


A Love Once New

by Practically_An_XMan



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: And also secretly a softie, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Chaptered, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Language, Mind Manipulation, Partial Mind Control, Swearing, Violence, Warren is touch-starved
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-14 09:13:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 28,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29168628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Practically_An_XMan/pseuds/Practically_An_XMan
Summary: The first time I saw him, he was fighting for his life. That seemed to be indicative of our relationshipTitle is from the lyrics of April Come She Will by Simon and Garfunkel
Relationships: Warren Worthington III/Original Character(s), Warren Worthington III/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 6





	1. Spectator

**Author's Note:**

> \- Adding more WIPS isn't a bad thing as long as you're still working on the other ones, right? (I'm kidding, any kind of progress is good content, whether you're still updating the others or not.)  
> \- Warnings for violence and swearing apply to this and almost all future chapters  
> \- Sorry if the language translations are inaccurate, I just used Google Translate.

“Oh come on. You should come with me tonight. It’ll be fun.” Anna pleaded for the third time this morning. She scooped another mouthful of scrambled eggs into her mouth, tilting her head at me. 

“You know I don’t drink. What use would a club be to me?” I argued. Anna’s Friday-night clubbing was her routine and I respected that, but I was a little irritated that she was trying to drag me into this.

“It’s not a club.” she responded, “It’s like a boxing ring. They have shows every night, but the Friday shows are the best. Trust me, you’ll like it.”

I paused. Okay, maybe watching a boxing match could be fun. At the very least, it would be something new to try out. And I kind of owed it to my friend after I dragged her to that shitty horror movie last week. 

“Alright. What time is the match?” I sighed. My roommate grinned at me. 

“It starts at 8. Wear something nice.”

“To a boxing match? You realize that half the guys in the room probably won’t even be wearing shirts, right? Not exactly the most swanky of places.” 

“This one is.” 

I opened my mouth to argue, but decided against it. I’d never been to a boxing match in Germany before, maybe they were different from the few I’d seen in other countries. It was at least worth a shot. Anna checked her wristwatch, eyes widening as she looked at the time.

“ _Scheiße!_ ” she swore, scrambling to get her stuff back into her bookbag, “Late for work!” She jumped to her feet, slinging her back over one shoulder. I laughed a little at her frenzy, sitting up to scoop my own books into my lap. She practically whirled out the door, grabbing her coat with one hand and her bookbag with the other. She paused only to jab a finger at me.

“8 o’clock. I’m holding you to it.” she decided. I flipped her the bird, and she let out a laugh as she closed the door behind her. 

____  
Which is how I wound up standing in front of the mirror at 7:30, inspecting my appearance. I was wearing my favorite dress, a backless black piece with a Grecian neckline and delicate swirls of embroidery done in gold thread. I’d bought it a few months ago in France (for _entirely_ too much money) and I was determined to get good use of it. 

I hadn’t bothered with much makeup, just a touch of mascara and lip gloss. I’d done my short hair up in a half-braid, leaving the other half down. It looked fancy enough, even for my extremely limited fashion skills. I slipped on a pair of black ankle boots, took one final glance at my hair, then walked out of my bedroom to meet Anna at the door.

At least I hadn’t overdressed. Anna was wearing an emerald-green slip with a neckline so low I was convinced she was going to take us to a club anyway. Her long black hair was out of her face, done up in a bun atop her head to show off the delicate pendant she wore at her throat. She smiled when she saw me, gesturing to my dress.

“You look beautiful, Rae.” 

“So do you! Should we go?”

She nodded, grabbing her purse and following me out the door. She’d suggested we walk to the ring - it was only a few blocks away, and it wasn’t too cold yet. I was actually starting to get excited for the event…until Anna led me to a huge gray building. With a bouncer. 

“Anna…”

“Just trust me, alright?” she cut me off. She paid the entrance fee for both of us, then walked inside. After a moment of hesitation, I followed her. 

The room inside was huge, though it was crammed with people. The place was dimly lit, but I could see security guards at the outskirts of the room. Wait, were they holding _guns?_ More people stood on second-floor balconies, apparently for a better view of the fight. There was an announcer’s box, and the man inside was dressed like Liberace on steroids. But my heart sank when I saw what was in the middle of the room.

It was a cage. A huge metal cage, two stories tall and humming with electricity. Spotlights shone in the center, illuminating the fighting area inside. Even from my limited view on the floor, I could see the bloodstains and gouges in the wooden panels. I whirled on Anna, glaring at her. I had to shout to be heard over the crowd.

“You said this was a boxing match, not a _fucking_ cage fight!” I yelled at her, gesturing wildly towards the cage. 

“I said it was _like_ a boxing match.” she argued, “And keep your voice down! The show’s starting.”

I opened my mouth to argue again, but the announcer’s voice echoed through the room. Anything I said would be drowned out at this point. Anna shrugged, then disappeared into the crowd. Probably going to grab a drink, I’d seen a bar area on the way in. I tried to follow her, still wanting to give her a piece of my mind, but the crowd of people blocked my way. 

“ _Willkommen_ to Fight Night!” the announcer’s voice called. The crowd roared. The announcer - wearing a _garishly_ purple suit - swept his arm dramatically down to the cage.

“Will anyone defeat our reigning Champion tonight? Or will our avenging seraph hold his title? It’s time to see! You know him, you love him, introducing our Champion…” he paused for a long moment, riling up the crowd. “Angel!” 

The gates in the back of the cage opened, and a man swooped in. He landed on one of the rafters that crossed the cage, spreading wide white wings. A mutant? He pumped a fist, calling out to the audience. His wings stood out against his black clothing, and the spotlights illuminated his curls of blond hair, giving him a sort of halo. No wonder his fighting name was Angel. In another setting, he would have looked absolutely divine. Here, he just looked angry. 

“And tonight’s contender! All the way from the frozen deserts of Siberia, it’s…. Frostbite!” the announcer continued. His voice resonated throughout the room, making the floor vibrate under my feet. The cage doors opened again, and another mutant burst in. This man had cold blue skin, and icicles clung to his clothing like stalactites. He took in a deep breath and let it out, sending a fog of water vapor across the floor of the cage. 

So Birdy Boy versus the Human Dry Ice. For a moment I wondered who had the advantage. But my excitement quickly turned to fear as armed guards surrounded the cage. They clipped jumper cables to the cage, sending electricity coursing through it with a low buzz. Under the rush of the crowd, I heard the click of guns being cocked. 

Anna seriously _enjoyed_ this? They were making mutants fight for our entertainment, in an electrified cage, and from the sight of those guns, the loser wouldn’t survive to see daylight. It made me feel a little sick. 

“ _Drei, zwei, eins… Kämpfe!_ ” the announcer roared into the mic. As soon as the bell dinged, Angel swooped low to slam into Frostbite, knocking him into the side of the cage. Angel let go the moment before he made contact, landing on the floor a few steps away. Frostbite’s body stiffened and jerked from the shock before he managed to pull away and slump onto the wooden floor. 

Stunningly, Frostbite got to his feet. Angel ran up to him, swinging a clawed wing towards his head. Frostbite caught it in one hand, gritting his teeth. Frost crackled over Angel’s feathers, and his eyes widened in surprise before he yanked his wing back from Frostbite’s grasp. 

Throughout the fight, the announcer called out encouragement in a mix of English and German, so loud it made my head ring. As gruesome as I found the concept, it was a little entracing to watch Angel fight. He shook the frost off his wing, then darted forward towards Frostbite. Frostbite dodged, but Angel feigned left and punched him in the cheekbone. Frostbite grabbed his wrist, and Angel hissed in pain as his skin steamed from the cold. 

Angel beat his wings forcefully, forcing Frostbite to either let go of his wrist or get dragged up to the rafters with him. Frostbite picked the former, dropping to the ground. Angel flew up to the rafter, gripping his injured arm. Even from here, I could see that the skin had gone an angry red - any longer and Frostbite would have lived up to his name. 

Angel chose that moment to play to the audience a bit. He raised his wings above his head, feathers almost brushing the roof of the cage. The audience cheered. Angel’s pale green eyes scanned across the crowd, for the briefest of moments meeting mine. He winked, and I felt my face flush. 

He took a step backwards, dropping off the rafter and landing catlike on the wooden floor. Frostbite was waiting for him, apparently not pleased by his little break. Frostbite ran for Angel, hands outstretched, but Angel was ready and ducked under his arms. Angel spun, slamming his elbow into the other man’s temple. Frostbite crumpled.

Three long seconds passed before the referee blew his whistle. The sharp sound pierced the air, and for a moment the audience was silent. Then they burst into uproar, the loudest applause I had ever heard. I clapped along with them, albeit a little less enthusiastically. 

“ _And the winner is Angel!_ ” the announcer yelled in German. Angel curled his wing over, scratching a tally into the floor with a sharp claw. At least a dozen were already marked on the floor. A dozen wins. Then he raised his wings high into the air, yelling triumphantly. His expression was joyful, even smug, but I was close enough to see the glint of relief in his eyes. 

Frostbite began to stir, and two guards burst into the cage. Each of them wore thick protective gear and gloves, apparently as defense against Frostbite’s icy skin. One guard hooked a hand under Frostbite’s left arm, the other took his right.

“ _Nyet! Pozhaluysta! Ostanovi Ikh!_ ” Frostbite desperately called in Russian. _No. Please. Stop them._ He sounded so helpless, I wished I could do something. I felt a tap on my shoulder, and spun. There was Anna, drink in hand and hair mussed. 

“We should go. You look upset.” she said. Well, she’s not wrong. I am upset. 

“You can stay, the flat’s not far. I’ll walk.” I insisted. 

“Nah, the main fight’s over already. Not really worth staying for the others.” she shrugged, already pushing through the crowds to leave. I followed her, gritting my teeth against the sound of Frostbite’s pleas for help. 

The crowd was much less intense outside, though there were still lines of people outside the local bars and restaurants, looking for a quick bite before the next fight. Anna excused herself to one of the shorter lines, wanting a snack herself, leaving me to wait beside the building. I didn’t mind. I needed the fresh air.

The sound of a slamming door and a person shouting brought me out of my thoughts. I turned, peering cautiously down the alleyway beside me. Three shadowy figures at the end of the alley, one distinctly carrying a long-barreled shotgun. The smaller figure cried out, and I heard a thump of impact as the figure restraining him delivered a harsh blow to the gut. Wait. I recognized that smaller shadow.

 _Turn and walk away. Don’t try to be a hero, you’re just going to get yourself killed. Don’t be an idiot, Rae._ And yet I found myself stepping into the alleyway, moving as silently as possible. The sound of the shotgun being cocked made me flinch, and I saw it aimed at Frostbite.

“Hey! What the hell are you doing?!” I shouted, trying to sound more intimidating than I felt. The good news? The guards momentarily forgot about shooting Frostbite. On the downside, the barrel of that shotgun was now pointed at _me_. Shit. 

“Walk away. This is not your business.” one man said in halting, heavily-accented English. Last chance, Rae. For a moment I was tempted to take his advice, but Frostbite’s terrified gray eyes met mine and something in me broke.

Apparently I took too long to respond, because the man leaned in closer, bending at the waist to meet my eyes. He still had the gun, I noted, but he seemed more inclined to try and scare me than actually shoot me.

“I said. Walk. Away.” he hissed in my face. His breath stank of liquor, and my nose crinkled at the harsh smell. I held his gaze for a long moment, then glanced down nervously, playing up the part of the lost foreigner woman. He chuckled, thinking he’d won our little staredown. 

The instant his guard went down, I slammed the heel of my palm into his nose, feeling something pop under the force. The man recoiled with a German swear, pressing a hand to his now-bleeding nose. I grabbed his wrist, smacking his knuckles forcefully with my free hand. On reflex he dropped the gun, and I kicked it away. There. One less way for me to die tonight. 

Someone grabbed me from behind, pinning my arms to my sides. I relaxed my muscles, making myself dead weight. I felt my assailant stagger, but they were too strong for my little trick to have worked. The guard whose nose I’d broken took a step towards me, punching his hand into the opposite palm. Despite the danger, I nearly laughed. What, did this guy get all his villain moves from Looney Tunes? 

Suddenly I was grateful for the person grabbing me from behind. I brought my legs to my chest, using their weight to hold me up, and kicked both legs into the guard’s chest. He staggered backwards, tripping over an uncovered pipe and falling to the ground. The momentum sent me and my new human backpack straight onto our asses as well. 

I heard him grunt - I was sure it was a _him_ now - and used the opportunity to push my way away and stagger to my feet. To his credit, Frostbite was giving the other guard a hell of a fight, but with all that coldproof armor he wasn’t making much headway. I took one step before my feet were swept out from under me by a flash of white. I landed flat on my ass again with a hiss of pain. 

Before I could react, I was yanked upward and slammed against the wall. Angel’s furious green eyes met mine. One of his arms was pressed against my shoulders, keeping me pinned to the wall. His other hand covered my mouth.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he hissed in my ear. I gave him a pointed look, and he removed his hand from my mouth. 

“Saving an innocent man from being shot.” I whispered back.

“That’s just how things are here. Get used to it.” 

“And what if you had lost today? Would you still be saying that?” 

That made him pause. His eyebrows furrowed, but he took a step back, releasing me. Behind him, the injured guard had gotten back up, and had apparently retrieved the shotgun. He checked that it was still loaded with a sickening _click_. I ran over, but he caught me by the throat with one hand. He began to squeeze, and dark spots flashed across my vision. My fingers scrabbled for purchase against his arm. 

Dimly, I heard the guard grunt, felt him recoil as Angel slammed against him, but he didn’t let go of me. The darkness crept into my vision as I gasped for breath. 

“Let go!” Anna’s voice rang out, both in my ears and in my mind. The guard’s hand slackened on my throat and I dropped to the ground. I forced my lungs to take in air. Someone was crouched next to me, but their face blurred in my vision and I couldn’t tell who it was.

“Stop fighting.” Anna continued. The guards froze, but so did Frostbite. She had never specified _who_ in her command, but complaining was the furthest thing from my mind. I took in another harsh breath, Angel’s face coming into focus in front of me. He looked surprisingly concerned for someone who had just slammed me into a wall. 

Anna walked past me, facing the two guards. They stared slack-jawed at her, caught in a trance from her ability. She met each of their glassy eyes, making sure they were under her spell.

“You are going to forget you ever saw me. And forget you ever saw Rae. You believe you shot Frostbite and got rid of the body. You will go inside and report to your boss that everything went as planned.” she spoke clearly and calmly, enunciating each word carefully in English. She gave a little wave, and the guards’ eyes cleared. Their gaze skirted past me and Angel, past Frostbite, as if they didn’t even see us. The guards turned, opening the door to the battle room and walking inside. 

Frostbite looked at Anna, still terrified. I got to my feet, walking over to him. I held my hands up, trying to show that I wasn’t going to hurt him. He calmed a little at the sight of me, realizing I was the one who tried to save him earlier, but still looked like he’d turn and run any moment. 

“It’s okay, we’re here to help you.” I wheezed in English, then repeated the statement in Russian when he gave me a blank look. He gave me a long stare, then breathed a sigh of relief.

“ _My name’s Rae, this is my friend Anna. We’re going to get you out of here._ ” Anna shot me a glare. She didn’t speak Russian, but she could hear it in my mind. _What, you just want to leave him here?_ , I fired back mentally. Anna gave me an “alright fine” look.

“ _I am Ivan. Where am I?_ ” Frostbite - Ivan - responded in Russian.

“ _Berlin._ ” His eyes widened. Apparently he was surprised to be so far from his home. Which only confirmed my suspicions that all of this had been against his will. 

“Okay, he’s alive. Now what’s your plan?” a sarcastic voice interrupted. Angel walked up to us, ignoring the way Ivan flinched away. He looked at me, apparently expecting me to have an idea of what to do. I wished I did. To be honest I had kind of rushed in, with no clear plan except Don’t Get Killed. 

“We… find him a place to stay for the night and tomorrow we get him a ticket away from here.”

“I hope you understand what you’re doing. If your friend’s little mutant trick doesn’t work, you’ll be dead by morning. These people don’t take lightly to this sort of thing.”

“It’ll work. It always works.” Anna interrupted, none too pleased at being ignored. Angel raised an eyebrow, but didn’t respond. After a long moment, he sighed and ran a hand over his wild blond curls. 

“Fine.” he turned to Frostbite. “You can stay with me for tonight. My apartment’s secure, they won’t find us. Then you’re out of here.”

Ivan looked at me with wide eyes. I translated what Angel had said into Russian for him, and he nodded. Apparently his fear of being killed by whoever ran the cage fighting ring trumped his fear of Angel. Angel gave a single nod, then turned back towards me.

“What the hell kind of crazy mutant runs into a fight like that? Were you _trying_ to get yourself killed? There are easier ways.” he criticized. His eyes flicked down to my throat, where I was sure bruises were already forming. 

“For the record, I’m not a mutant. And if it had been your sorry ass instead of his, I bet you wouldn’t be whining so much, would you now?” 

“I know what I signed up for. I’m not sure you do.” he snapped, staring me dead in the eyes. I looked back at him, showing no fear. Anna cleared her throat, stepping in front of me. 

“I don’t think we need any more fighting tonight. I’m Anna.” she said, holding a hand out to Angel. He crossed his arms, refusing to shake her hand.

“I’m Rae, by the way.” I offered awkwardly, trying to make amends. Anna was the more level-headed of the two of us, and usually her stepping in was a good sign that I needed to shut up. 

“Warren.” he responded before turning back towards Ivan. “So, are you going to turn off that ice thing or am I dragging you to my apartment by the shirtsleeves like Peter fucking Pan?” 

I translated for him - albeit putting it in nicer language - and after a moment the cool blue glow faded from Ivan’s skin. The icicles melted off his clothing, and he gestured towards himself as if to say _okay, done._

“Meet me back here at 10 AM tomorrow. And be discreet, for fuck’s sake.” he sighed. He walked over to Ivan, picking him up in a fireman’s carry and launching off the ground. I was nearly blown off my feet by the draft his wings created. 

“What the hell have we gotten ourselves into?”


	2. Facade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They've saved Ivan from immediate death. Now the hard part is getting him home without anyone knowing. If someone recognizes him, they're all dead.

9:59 AM the next day, Anna and I stood in the same alleyway. I could still see bloodstains on the floor from the one guard’s broken nose. I shifted awkwardly on my feet, hands brushing over the scarf I wore at my neck. To hide the bruises. 

Anna looked hungover, but I couldn’t tell how much of that was due to actual alcohol and how much was the exertion of Persuading those guards last night. She rubbed a hand over her red-rimmed eyes, looking about as uncomfortable as I felt. I looked up at the sky, watching for familiar white wings. 

A gust of wind whipped through our clothing as he landed, Ivan hoisted over his shoulder. Warren set him down and walked over to us, with the still-dizzy Ivan on his heels. 

“Next time, maybe our little refugee should stay with someone who _actually_ speaks his language.” Warren grumbled. 

“You say that like there will be a next time.” I fired back.

“Don’t push it, Rae.” he said with a glare, though I noticed the way he called me by name. Maybe he was warming up to me after all. Warren took off his leather jacket, only to put it back on over his wings, hiding them. 

“Okay. We are not mutants, we are a group of ordinary people wishing our friend well on his trip to Moscow. Alright?” he said, gesturing towards the street out front. Warren glanced at Ivan, then gestured to me for translation. 

“ _One-way ticket to Moscow._ ” I said as I pressed it into his palm, “ _We will walk down together like friends, stay calm and act friendly._ ” Ivan nodded, tucking the ticket into his pocket. Here goes nothing. We stepped out onto the street, which was thankfully fairly vacant. Ivan nearly burst out running, but Anna, who was right beside him, grabbed his hand. She looked pointedly at him, probably telling him something in his mind, and he slowed his pace a little. 

Warren walked up beside me, pointing at the buildings and describing them. Of course, I already knew what these buildings were for, but it was all for the act. A friend showing another friend around Berlin. He glanced up at Anna and Ivan periodically. They were gradually gaining distance on us, so Warren jogged to catch up. 

“Slow down. Look in shop windows. Buy a coffee. Act like you’re _not_ trying to run away from something.” he muttered to them. Anna nodded, looking at Ivan again to mentally pass on the message. Warren slowed, until he was walking alongside me once more. 

“So are you from Russia too? I notice you speak the language.” he asked casually. 

“I’m Scottish, actually. But I work as a translator, so I dropped the accent.” I explained. Warren paused, looking in the window of a record store. I walked up beside him, pretending to point something out. More people were starting to join us on the street, on their way to Saturday brunch or whatever else they had planned. 

“So how does a human from Scotland get tangled up in an underground mutant-fighting ring in Germany?” he asked sarcastically. I chuckled. 

“Came here to brush up on my German for work. The rest was accidental.” I responded. I checked the street sign up ahead. We still had a few blocks till the train station, and there was a small cafe up ahead. _That would make a good distraction in case anyone’s following us_ , I thought. Jesus, barely 12 hours after my first and only brush with organized crime and here I was thinking like James Bond. 

I tried to direct my thoughts towards Anna. _Hey, coffee shop ahead. Good distraction. Get Ivan to slow down._ She didn’t look back at me, but I saw her and Ivan slow their pace. 

“Hey guys, why don’t we grab a quick coffee?” I suggested to the group, acting like I’d just thought up the idea off-handedly, “We’ve still got time.”

Warren nodded, approving of my little detour, and the four of us dipped into the small cafe. There was a bit of a line - as expected on a Saturday morning - but 15 minutes later we were back on the street with our drinks. Anna had opted for a scone as well, and to my surprise Warren went for a chocolate chip muffin. He didn’t strike me as the chocolate-and-sweets type, but then again my only interactions with him had been fighting for his life. 

I took a sip of my chai tea latte, glancing surreptitiously around me for anything out of place. Everything seemed fine, but then again I didn’t have much experience with crime syndicates. I nudged Warren with my elbow, trying to silently ask him if everything seemed alright, and he shrugged. Not really an answer, but at least he still seemed calm. 

So we kept walking. Thankfully Ivan had finally gotten the hint, and walked hand-in-hand with Anna. The two of them looked like any other young couple on the street, especially given how different Ivan looked now that his ice powers were deactivated. Warren tore his muffin in half, offering me part of it. I gratefully accepted. My stomach had been in knots all morning, so I’d skipped breakfast. Now I was starting to regret that.

My heart stuttered a little at the sight of the train station. There were a _lot_ of people here, with a good chance that at least one of them had been at the fight last night. Warren seemed to sense my apprehension, and slipped an arm around my waist. An anchor, to keep me from bolting. 

Not much further now. Just down to the third train line, wave our goodbyes, and walk out. The rest, Ivan would have to do himself. But I couldn’t shake the feeling of eyes on me. Warren’s grip tightened around my waist, and he leaned in to whisper in my ear.

“Tell your friend we’re being followed.” As he spoke, I mentally relayed the message to Anna. _Okay. We’ll meet you at line three_ , I heard in my head a moment later, then nodded subtly to Warren. Anna and Ivan disappeared into the crowd. Warren steered us off to the side, away from the crush of people. 

He guided us around the station, leading whoever was following us on a wild goose chase. We were just starting to loop back around when Warren froze. In a heartbeat he had pulled his arms around me, pressing his lips fervently against mine. At first I stiffened, not expecting the contact, but then I realized that probably wasn’t conducive to our little we’re-a-couple facade. My hands found their way into his hair, gripping his blond curls. In the back of my mind, I realized we probably looked like some long-distance couple reuniting here at the train station. 

After a moment he pulled away, but brushed his lips against the side of my neck to discreetly whisper in my ear. 

“Sorry. Somebody almost recognized me.” he whispered, his soft voice sending chills down my spine. He pulled away, smiling at me, but laced his fingers through mine. We started walking back down to line three, Warren apparently satisfied that we were no longer being followed. We spied Anna and Ivan looking around for us, and Warren waved like he was greeting an old friend. 

We jogged up to Ivan and Anna, who visibly sighed in relief. Her eyes flicked from my face to our clasped hands, and she raised an eyebrow. _Shut up, it’s just for appearances_ , I thought pointedly at her. Her mouth twisted up in a hint of a smirk. Clearly, she didn’t believe me in the slightest.

“Quickly. We lost them, but they might still catch up.” Warren stated, ushering Ivan onto the train. 

“ _Be careful. The ticket will get you to Moscow, the rest is up to you._ ” I spoke in Russian, pressing a wad of cash into Ivan’s hand, “ _For food and hotel rooms until you get home. Stay safe._ ” 

“ _Thank you for all your help. You must be my guardian angel._ ” he responded earnestly. I laughed, earning me a strange look from Warren, who couldn’t understand what we were saying. 

“ _Pretty sure that name is taken_.” I said wryly, flicking my eyes towards Warren. Ivan chuckled a little, but Anna was already shoving him up onto the train. We watched as the train puffed and hissed, leaving the station and gaining speed until it was out of sight. We all seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief. 

“Let’s get going.” Warren prompted. Anna and I nodded in agreement, casually turning to filter through the crowds again. Warren let go of my hand, shoving his fists into his pockets. We left the train station, walking a few extra blocks until we were away from the clusters of people. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. 

Granted, I was still a little worried that something would happen to Ivan on the way to Moscow, or somewhere along the rest of the trip to Siberia, but we’d done all we could to help the man. Now we just had to trust that Ivan’s mutant abilities and survival instincts would get him home.

“Hey.” Warren’s voice startled me out of my thoughts. “Don’t expect to make that a habit. Just cause we got _him_ out of here doesn’t mean it’s a good idea to try and save everyone. Just don’t try and be a hero.”

I frowned at that statement, but he held up a hand to stop me from arguing. 

“You’re just going to wind up getting killed. Hell, you almost _did_ get killed. Don’t make it a routine.” he gestured at the scarf around my neck, and I stifled a shiver at the thought of how close I'd come to suffocating. I bit back another sharp remark. _Well, aren’t you quite the hypocrite then, Mr. Dozen-Wins. Seems like a routine to me._ I really did _not_ appreciate being lectured like this. And clearly Anna picked up on that, because she interrupted Warren before he could continue his tirade.

“We get it, okay? We’ll stay out of it. Thanks for the help.” she said, grabbing my elbow to pull me along. I started to walk with her, but paused after a couple steps. I looked over my shoulder at Warren, faintly surprised he hadn’t flown off yet.

“Doesn’t it bother you? To know that all the people you fight against get killed?” I asked. I meant it as a jab, but my voice just sounded… sad. Mournful, even. Something I couldn’t identify flashed through Warren’s eyes, and I saw him take in a deep breath. Anna yanked on my elbow, pulling me away. This time, I let her. 

I felt the rush of wind whip through my clothes as Warren took off. I did not look back.


	3. A Look to the Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After all that excitement, you’d think that they’d want nothing to do with each other. That wasn’t quite the case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- This chapter got a little long. You have been warned

Anna and I walked back towards our flat. I tucked my jacket a little closer around me at the breeze. My fingers brushed against the scarf over my neck. The bruises were worth it. We’d done something good: we’d saved Ivan’s life. There was something vaguely exhilarating about the danger of it. Knowing you did something right, even at the risk of death. I could see why people like the X-Men chose to do this. 

The X-Men. What if we could contact them? Maybe they could help us take down the fighting ring. If they knew that mutants were killed like clockwork every week - possibly even more - surely they’d do something, right? 

“They have enough to deal with, Rae.” I heard Anna mutter. On instinct, I started singing Camptown Races in my head, trying to drown out my other thoughts. She flinched slightly at the sudden burst of mental noise. I didn’t apologize. She knew to stay out of my head. 

But then she flinched again, even after I’d stopped my little mental concert. Then she was holding her head in her hands, grimacing in pain. She was having a vision, I knew. She didn’t get them often, but she said they were like migraines with pictures. 

“We’re almost home, come on.” I muttered, gently grabbing her arm to guide her past the few pedestrians on the street. Anna let me half-drag her towards our apartment, still clutching her head. We were only a block away when she started whispering something under her breath. I tried not to listen. I was a firm believer that if you’re told the future, you could screw it up. Still, I caught the word “Egypt” amidst her mumbling. 

Then, almost as if it hadn’t happened at all, Anna straightened. She tossed her head like she was shaking out the remnants of the vision, and took a deep breath. I let go of her arm, and she flashed me an apologetic look.

“Okay, I get it. I won’t try to call the X-Men.” I tried to joke, but a shadow passed over her face. Apparently whatever she’d seen _did_ have something to do with the X-Men. I wasn’t sure how to take that. 

Thankfully I didn’t have much time to deliberate. Right as I turned to open the door to the apartment complex, I felt a gust of wind from behind me. I turned, not even surprised at this point.

“Why were you following us?” I asked, staring Warren straight in the face. 

“Dude practically tore my apartment to fucking shreds. And you owe me one, since all of this was your idea.” he said. 

“So you want me to be your maid.” I deadpanned. He had the decency to look taken aback.

“Of course not. I just need an extra set of hands.” he explained. 

“Fine.” I agreed, surprising him, “But only because I think Anna needs some alone time.” Anna looked gratefully at me, opening the door to the building and slipping inside. She still looked a little shaken from whatever she’d seen in her vision. Warren, taking in her rattled appearance, gave a sympathetic nod. He took a step back from the door, extending his wings a bit.

“Let’s go, then.” he said, holding out a hand towards me.

“Wait, we’re flying there?” I asked, stunned. He gave me an “isn’t it obvious?” look.

“Faster than walking. Come on.” I hesitated a moment. I wasn’t afraid of heights, and it wasn’t like I doubted his flying ability. But there was a certain level of trust involved, and I wasn’t sure I was there yet.

“Honestly, I’m not gonna drop you.” he said, sounding exasperated. I rolled my eyes at him, taking his hand. I could feel calluses from fighting on his palm. He tugged me closer to his body, wrapping his arm tightly around my waist. At least he didn’t sling me over his shoulder like he did to Ivan this morning. Or, God forbid, a bridal carry. 

“Ready?” Warren asked, glancing down at me. I wasn’t that much shorter than him, and our noses almost brushed. If he just leaned down a little more… 

“Ready.” I said, ducking my head. He unfurled his wings, his arm tightening around my waist as he took off. I felt the ground fall away from under me, and my breath caught in my throat. I wrapped my arms around his neck, watching as the ground spiraled away below us. It was kind of mesmerizing, in a way. Beautiful, too, to see the buildings that made up Berlin from high above. It should have been chilly, high up here with the frigid breeze around us, but I could barely feel the cold with Warren’s arms wrapped around me. 

The flight only took a few minutes. His apartment wasn’t all that far from where we saw the fight, in a part of town that was mostly filled with warehouses and other storage units. He glided towards one of the buildings, folding his wings in as he landed gently on the balcony. He unwound his arm from my waist, taking a polite step away from me. 

He opened the door as I tried to tame my windswept hair, gesturing towards the inside of the apartment. It looked like a tornado had swept through the place. What limited furniture he had was overturned, and random books and pieces of trash had been strewn across the floor. I took a few steps in, trying to find a spot on the floor that was less covered with debris. Warren walked in after me, waving his arms at the mess.

“See what I mean?” he stated. He reached down, plucking a few books off the floor and setting them down on the kitchen counter. I could see the bookshelf upside-down on the floor. 

“Yeah. What even happened to this place?” I asked as I crouched over to help Warren pick up the books.

“I don’t know. He woke me up in the middle of the night and just… freaked. I think he broke some of my glasses too, watch where you step.” he pointed at the kitchen space, where I could indeed see shards of broken glass glittering on the floor. He walked over to the bookshelf, crouching to get a grip and lifting it easily. He shuffled it back to the corner of the room. Damn, he was _strong_. 

“Do you have a broom? I want to take care of this glass before one of us accidentally steps on it.”

“There’s a closet at the end of the hall. I think I have a broom in there.” he responded, still working on setting the books on the now-standing bookcase. I walked down to the end of the hall, picking through the carnage that decorated his apartment. Luckily, he had a broom and dustpan, though they were a little worse for wear. I started to sweep up the glass, crouching on the kitchen floor. 

“So what languages do you know? Besides Russian and English, obviously.” he called from across the room, trying to make conversation.

“Besides Russian and English, I’m fluent in Spanish, French, and ASL. I’m working on my German, that’s why I’m here in Berlin. I want to learn Mandarin at some point. Oh! And my grandpa caught me Gaelic, growing up.” A lot of languages, I know. But they just seemed to stick in my brain, ever since I was little. So I decided to make it my job, I certainly had a passion for it. 

“Damn.” he said. I couldn’t see his face from where I was, but he sounded impressed. I chuckled.

“What about you?” 

“English and German.”

“Hmm, maybe you could teach me.” I noted, missing the way he glanced over at me. I got the last of the glass sweept up and threw it away, then went over to help Warren with the books.

“I’m sorry, by the way.” I said. He glanced over, looking confused, “Earlier. I’m sorry for implying that you don’t care about what happens to your opponent.”

“We all do what we have to to survive.”

“Yeah. But anyway, I’m really sorry.” 

“It’s fine.” he assured, staring at his knuckles. I could see the small scars criss-crossing them. I grabbed a few more books off the floor, keeping myself busy. That’s why I was here, after all, to help Warren clean up the place after Ivan’s apparent freakout. One of the book covers caught my eye. 

“ ‘Salem’s Lot? Are you a Stephen King fan?” 

“Didn’t even know I owned that one, actually.” he said, walking over to take a look at the paperback. He turned it over in his hands.

“Must have bought it at some point and never read it.” he said, shelving it with the rest of the books.

“It’s really good, actually. One of my favorites.” I suggested. He didn’t respond, but he set the book sideways so he’d remember to read it. I set to work picking up some of the scraps of paper and trash off the floor. The room was already starting to look better, though we’d need to get some furniture put back into place. 

____  
_Meanwhile, I was back at the apartment, trying to decode what I saw. My visions are always tough to figure out, usually coming in small flashes of images and snippets of words. Not to mention the pain of having a vision forced behind your eyes at the most inopportune of moments._

_Something bad was going to happen, I know. There was a lot of fighting, a lot of blood, and an immense sense of power. Something was rising. Something powerful. Something incredibly dangerous._

_There were a few things I’d figured out. The X-Men were involved, first of all. I could see some of their notable members - Mystique and Beast - fighting, even in the momentary flashes. And I knew it had to take place in Cairo, among the pyramids._

_Then there were a few things that confused me. I thought I saw Rae, or at least someone who looked very much like her. And yet… not. This not-Rae was fighting alongside the X-Men, with mutant powers of her own. But Rae was 100% human, I knew that._

_I caught the shortest glimpse of metal wings, someone flying through the air. Again, it looked like someone I knew: Warren, but not quite. Was it possible that I’d looked into some sort of parallel dimension? There were just so many things that were_ not-quite-right _, I couldn’t put them together._

_I kept replaying the visions in my mind, looking for any other clues. Anything. If I knew how things fit together, maybe I could figure out how to redirect this future. Find a way to avoid all this._

_Because no matter what, I wanted to avoid this future. Because whatever was rising, it could destroy the world. Because the not-Rae and not-Warren I’d seen looked exhausted, anguished, like something had torn them apart and put them back together like jigsaw puzzles. And because no matter how many times I recalled the vision, I couldn’t see myself anywhere in it._

____  
The sun was beginning to set when we finally got everything sorted out at Warren’s apartment. The toughest part was trying to get the sofa back in place. Ivan had somehow managed to flip it entirely over, and while Warren was plenty strong enough to lift it, it was cumbersome and awkward. Which was probably why he needed the extra set of hands.

But we’d managed to get it moved without _too_ much trouble. The apartment was looking much better now, with everything back in place. I hoped that Anna was doing better with some time alone, to process the vision she’d had. Or just to rest, either way it was better with me out of the apartment. 

Warren walked over to the kitchen area, pulling out a couple of glasses. He pulled a bottle of scotch from the liquor cabinet, holding it up so I could see from my spot on the couch.

“Something to drink?” he offered.

“No thanks, I don’t drink.” I replied. He nodded, putting one of the glasses back. 

“Soda, then?” He poured himself a glass of scotch, then at my nod, grabbed a can of Coke from the fridge. He handed it to me, then sat down in front of the couch, spreading his wings to the sides. From where I was sitting, I could see all the details in the delicate white feathers, the way the light made the tips of them slightly transparent. He leaned back with a deep sigh, taking a sip of his drink. A few quiet minutes passed before he spoke again.

“I’m going to order us some food. What do you like to eat?” he asked, looking up at me from where he was seated. 

“Actually, I should probably head back.” I responded, getting to my feet. He shifted, standing to face me. He looked me in the eyes, and the corner of his mouth twitched.

“Maybe another time, then?” I leaned back, crossing my arms, but grinned at him. 

“That’s an interesting way to ask someone out.” I said, lifting my eyebrows sarcastically. He didn’t back down.

“Did it work?” 

“Sure.” I laughed, “What time?”

“Tuesday? At six?” 

“That sounds great.” I said. His face brightened. It was really cute, actually. When he fought, he certainly looked the part of the avenging angel. But the expression on his face now was infinitely more divine. It coaxed a smile out of me, too. After a moment he chuckled, taking a few steps out to the balcony. 

“C’mon. I’ll give you a lift home.” he offered, holding out a hand. This time I didn’t hesitate. He pulled his arms around me, securing me against his body. I wrapped my arms around his neck, having learned my lesson from last time. He took off, gracefully flying back towards my neighborhood. He landed in an alleyway just outside my apartment complex - the streets were too crowded to land directly. I unwound my hands from his neck, but he kept his arms around my waist for a moment. 

“I’ll see you on Tuesday, then.” he murmured. I still couldn’t get over how cute his excitement was. He was trying to hide his smile, but the dimple that twitched in his cheek gave it away. 

“Where should I meet you?”

“I’ll pick you up in the lobby. That’s your building, right?” he said, gesturing towards the apartment complex. I nodded. He pulled his arms gently away from my waist, taking a step back. I started to head towards my building, walking backwards so I was still facing Warren. He seemed hesitant to leave too.

“I’ll see you on Tuesday, Warren.” I said, finally turning around. I didn’t want to trip on something. I was almost out to the street before I heard the wingbeats that meant Warren was leaving. I felt a blush rise in my cheeks. I was already excited for our date.

I climbed the stairs to my apartment, biting my lip to try and keep the smile off my face. I unlocked the door as gently as I could and slipped inside. I didn’t want to disturb Anna if she was asleep. But she wasn’t: she was curled up on the couch with a mug of hot tea. She glanced up when she heard me enter, giving a little wave.

“Hey, Anna. You doing alright?” I asked, trying to keep my voice down in case she was still dealing with a vision-migraine. 

“Better, yeah.” she replied, though she still had a vaguely haunted look in her eyes. Whatever she’d seen had shaken her. Badly. But she was trying to hide it. “How was your date?”

I chuckled. “It wasn’t a date. I was just helping him clean up his place.” Anna must’ve seen something in my expression.

“But…?” 

“But we’re going to dinner on Tuesday!” I squeaked. I was trying to stay quiet, but my excitement shone through. She giggled, finding humor in my excitement.

“Last time I take you to Fight Night.” she joked. 

“That was the _only_ time you took me to Fight Night.” I pointed out. 

“That’s what I’m saying. You go there _once_ and you’ve got a date with the hottest guy I’ve ever seen. Are you sure you aren’t some sort of siren?” 

“Last I checked. It must be just my _stunning_ personality. What, are you jealous?” I teased. 

“Maybe a little.” she admitted. 

“Don’t worry, we’ll find you a man.” I half-joked, sitting down next to her. She was starting to look a little better, the shaken look in her eyes had dissipated slightly. I wasn’t going to ask her about what she’d seen. It wasn’t my business to know, anyway. Anna flipped through channels, finally settling on some old movie. 

“I’ll make up some dinner.” I offered, already standing up to walk towards our little kitchen area. I decided to boil up some pasta and make a pesto sauce. It was already close to 7:30, and I figured something quick would be the best option. As I chopped up veggies and tossed the pasta into the water, I found myself wondering what Warren would choose for our date. I hadn’t thought to ask. 

“Stop thinking so loud!” Anna complained.

“I can’t exactly control it!” I called back. But I did try to dial back a little. It seemed to help, since I heard her sigh from the next room.

“Thank you!” she replied. I chuckled. How did this become my life? Trying to tone down my thoughts so I didn’t give my telepathic mutant friend a headache because I was too excited for my date with a winged cage fighter. Definitely not where I thought I’d be at 24. But to be honest, this was more incredible than I’d ever imagined. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.


	4. Some Sort of Normalcy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For once, Warren and Rae aren’t in some kind of danger. They can just enjoy dinner and each others’ company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- the biggest problem with giving these characters such a... unique dynamic (I mean, just look at their first few interactions) is that writing domestic stuff like first dates is _really_ tough to write.

Time has a funny way of warping when you’re excited about something. It somehow felt like the last four days dragged on into infinity, and yet I still didn’t understand how it was _already_ Tuesday. But here I was, standing in our living space, asking Anna what she thought about my outfit. 

“And you still don’t know where you’re going for dinner?” Anna asked, sounding incredulous.

“Didn’t think to ask, and I don’t have his number. I guess it’ll be a surprise?” That made getting dressed up a little complicated. I didn’t know Warren well enough to know what he liked to eat, or his idea of what a date should be. To be honest, I don’t really care about “fancy”. We could be eating microwaved Hot Pockets in our pajamas for all I cared. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I know how to dress and act for the occasion, but I’m never going to be one of those girls that _expects_ that sort of thing. Maybe that’s obvious. I’d ripped my only nice dress by getting into a fistfight. 

So I’d decided on something pretty neutral. Nice enough to fit the dress code for a more expensive restaurant, but nothing extravagant. A pale blue blouse with quarter-length sleeves and a neckline that dipped to show off my collarbones. Dark slacks, and a pair of comfortable-but-stylish boots. Given Warren’s preferred method of transportation, I’d opted against a skirt. And I’d done my hair up in a tight French braid for the same reason. I wore a pair of bangles on one wrist, and delicate gold earrings. 

“You look really nice, Rae. The braid’s a good idea.” she noted, “No offense, but last time you came home…”

“That bad, huh?” I joked. 

“Well, until ‘tornado watch’ becomes the next hit trend amongst pop stars, I don’t recommend it.”

I laughed. This was one of the reasons Anna and I had become such close friends in the span of the few months I’d been living in Berlin. We shared the same sense of humor, and we’d bonded over that. Maybe there was a good omen in that. Warren had the same sharp wit. 

I checked the clock on the wall. I still had a few minutes. I walked into the bathroom, checking my reflection in the mirror for the umpteenth time. I’d tried my hand at eyeshadow today, shades of coppery-brown to accentuate my blue-gray eyes. My brown hair was nothing special, but I thought it looked nice… at least when it wasn’t whipped into a rat’s nest. I pressed my fingers gently to my neck. The bruises had finally started to fade, but I still had to cake foundation on to cover the marks. 

“Enough with the worrying, you look great!” Anna called from the room over. I stuck my head out of the bathroom, looking sideways at her.

“Is it weird that I’m nervous about this?” I asked.

“It just means you’re into him. You care about making a good first impression.”

“No, that’s not-” I cut myself off, “Well yeah, you’re right, but that’s not what I’m talking about. I mean more like: five days ago we subverted a murder by an underground crime ring, and yet I’m worried about my _outfit?_ ” Anna shrugged. 

“You’ve got a point there. So go and enjoy yourself, and when you come back you can tell me all about how he’s secretly a gentleman or some kind of Disney prince or whatever.” I rolled my eyes at her, striding out of the bathroom and towards the front door. 

“You’re making me sound like a hopeless romantic.”

“Eh.” Anna replied with a shrug. 

“I resent that… but I can’t exactly argue with you right now.” I joked.

“Why, cause it’s true?”

“No, because I’m going to be late.” I said, pulling open the door behind me. 

“Have fun, _Schatzi!_ ” 

“Thanks, Anna!” I call to her as I close the door. I ran down the stairs to the lobby, pausing as I looked for Warren. 

He was right on time, leaning against a pillar out by the front door. He hadn’t noticed me yet. His eyes were turned out towards the street, people-watching. He wore a white button-down under his leather jacket, and jeans. He’d done something with his hair, tamed it down a bit. He hadn’t bothered to cover his wings. 

He checked his watch, then turned, finally spotting me. The side of his mouth pulled up in a smile when he caught my eyes. I smiled back as I walked over to him, pushing open the glass door and stepping out to where he was waiting.

“I realized I never asked you where we’re going.” I mentioned. 

“I’ve been meaning to try out this American diner a few blocks away from here. How does that sound?”

“Sounds great.” He held out a hand, which I took. We walked for a while, finding a street that wasn’t so heavily crowded. Once we did, he pulled me closer and launched into the air. I was getting used to the whole flight thing, but I still had to take a moment to shake off the vertigo when we landed. 

“You’ll get used to it.” Warren said sympathetically, steadying me with an arm around my waist. 

“You say that like there will be a next time.” I joked, repeating what I’d said to him a few days before. He chuckled, his deep tenor voice sending chills up my spine. His arm tightened around my waist. 

“I bloody hope so.” he murmured. We started to walk over to the diner. Warren slipped his hand from my waist, lacing his fingers with mine instead. The walk wasn’t far - he’d landed in a park just across the street from the restaurant. 

Dinner was nice. The diner was fairly crowded, but the food was good. Most of our conversation was surface-level: there was just too much that we couldn’t talk about in public. I learned that Warren was 26, he grew up in a small town in England, and he had no siblings. In turn, I told him about my childhood in an equally small town in the Highlands, my two sisters, and how travelling to Spain in sixth form helped me decide to become a translator.

“What do you do for work? I mean, when you’re not…” I trailed off, glancing at the other diners around us. 

“They have the place registered as a museum so the building doesn’t get torn down. They have us run tours on the weekdays.” 

I didn’t mean to laugh. But I just couldn’t picture Warren as a tour guide. The mental image of him in a polo shirt, maybe holding a clipboard like some kind of geeky schoolboy, was just too funny. I snorted, covering my mouth with my hand. I half-expected Warren to glare at me, but his face broke into a smile too. His green eyes gleamed brightly. 

“I know, right? Really not my style.”

“Why not find another job, then?” A shadow passed over his face. Shit. I didn’t mean to upset him.

“It doesn’t work like that.” he said gruffly. I could hear a hint of sadness in his voice. I couldn’t think of a way to respond, so I just took another bite of my food instead. After a moment, he spoke again.

“My fucking father sold me out. And once they find you, they don’t let you go. Doesn’t matter how many wins you rack up.”

“What about Ivan?”

“He’ll need to stay off the grid. Either for the rest of his life, or until by some bloody miracle the ring gets taken down. Otherwise they’ll just find him again.” 

“So it is possible to escape.” 

“Not for me.” he noted, still looking down at his food. “They’d recognize me. Either by my reputation or my father’s.” 

“I’m… I’m sorry.” I wasn’t really sure what to say other than that. Clearly he hated being forced into fighting like this, even if he was very good. In a way it was almost worse. Being stuck in this endless loop, where every Friday meant a chance at death, was almost worse than just getting it over with. Every win only guaranteed him another week, it was barely winning at all. Maybe that was cynical of me. 

“It’s fine. You couldn’t have known.” he muttered. He seemed angry, but it wasn’t directed at me. After a moment he shook off his anger and offered me a faint smile.

“Why don’t we go for a walk in the park? I need to get away from all these people.” 

“I’d love to. Just let me use the women’s room real quick. Meet you outside?” 

“Meet you outside.” he agreed. He stood up from the booth, leaving cash to cover the check. I stood up as well, heading towards the bathroom in the back of the restaurant. Thankfully it was clean, though there were a few women chatting noisily by the sinks. 

I was just drying my hands, ready to leave, when one of the women grabbed my arm. She was maybe in her early 40’s and looked concerned. 

“ _Are you alright, honey?_ ” she asked in German. I gave her a confused look, fighting the urge to reach up to my neck. Had the makeup rubbed off? I didn’t think so, it looked fine in the mirror a moment ago.

“ _Sorry?_ ” I asked, not sure what she meant.

“ _We saw you with that mutant. Is he hurting you?_ ” she questioned, still holding my arm. She didn’t even wait for an answer before continuing. “ _You can leave with us, hun. Don’t worry about him._ ” I fought the urge to glare at her as I pulled my arm away from her grasp. I knew she meant well, but her prejudice was getting on my nerves.

“ _No, he’s my date. It’d be in pretty poor form to leave him hanging, don’t you think?_ ” I half-joked, trying to lighten the mood. The woman’s eyebrows crinkled with concern. Guess I had to spell it out for her. “ _I appreciate your concern, but trust me, I’m safe with him. He’s not hurting me._ ”

I brushed past her and out the door, irritated. I skirted past the crowded tables and out the door, meeting Warren outside as promised. He noticed the scowl on my face.

“Everything okay?”

“It’s fine. Rude woman in the bathroom, it’s no big deal.” I said, trying to brush it off. He didn’t need to hear about the woman’s bigoted attitude, I was sure he got enough of it in his own life. 

“Whatever she said to you, she was wrong. You look stunning tonight.” he said, assuming she’d said something catty about my appearance. It was a fair assumption, and one I wasn't going to correct. I felt my face go crimson at the compliment. 

“Are you always this charming?” 

“Only with beautiful women.” He held out a hand, giving an exaggerated little flourish.

“You sap.” I laughed, but took his hand. We crossed the street to the park, walking along a trail underneath the trees. The sun had set, and clouds obscured the moon. Ordinarily, I’d stay away from walking in the park at night. Germany wasn’t like America, but there was still a bit of healthy hesitation there. Not with Warren, though. Even if I hadn’t seen his skill with fighting, having him here made me feel safe. _Guardian Angel_ , I thought to myself with a small smile.

With the sun having set, the temperature had dropped. I was beginning to wish I’d brought a jacket. I found myself leaning a little closer to Warren. He pulled me in a little more, wrapping a warm wing around my shoulders. 

“Tell me something about yourself.” I requested, glancing up at him. 

“Let me guess, something nobody else knows?” he replied, mocking the cliché of it. 

“No, just… something people wouldn’t guess about you.” He hummed, thinking about it. After a moment he nodded, apparently having decided on what to share.

“Okay. When I was a kid we had this local legend. There’s a backstory for it but the gist of it was that this priest became an angel when he died, but he failed at his job. Instead of protecting people, he killed them, pushed them off cliffs. Some people believed it, but a lot of people just chalked it up to some old story that got out of hand.” he explained, talking animatedly with his hands, “I think this is the part where I mention I was a bit of an arsehole as a teenager.”

I laughed a little at that, and he flashed me a grin before continuing.

“So Halloween rolled around one year, and-”

“You didn’t.” I cut off, laughing. 

“I did. I painted my wings black and everything. And I sort of… perched on this telephone pole and sat as still as I could. Every time someone would stop - trying to see if I was a statue or whatever - I flew down and scared the shit outta them. One lady pulled out a cross and waved it at me.” he said with a slight chuckle. I snorted at the mental image. His green eyes, having gone distant at the memory, flicked down to me.

“My father made me apologize for all that. Publicly. In church that Sunday, no less.” he shrugged, “And it took three washes to get all the paint out of my wings. Worth it though.”

I chuckled again. It was surprisingly easy to picture a teenaged Warren pulling a stunt like that, and cursing to himself as he tried to wash grease paint out of his feathers. Warren nudged me, pulling me out of the mental image.

“Your turn.” he said with a lopsided smile, “Something people don’t guess about you.”

“Alright, I…” I couldn’t really think of something, “I have a phobia.” I blurted. Wait. Shit. That wasn’t what I wanted to say. Warren looked equally surprised. 

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t have guessed that. Of what?”

“Of things affecting my mind, I guess. I don’t really know how to describe it.” I explained awkwardly, “It’s why I don’t drink. Drugs, alcohol, anything that makes me feel like my mind… like it isn’t my own, I guess.” Jesus, this conversation had taken a hard left turn, and fast. Warren shares some memory from his childhood, and here I am talking about my random irrational fears. What was _wrong_ with me?

“I guess that makes sense.” he agreed, then paused. “Wait, but isn’t Anna-”

“Yeah, but we were friends before I found out about her abilities. She stays out of my head.” 

“Well, you were right. I never would have guessed that about you.” he noted. I winced sympathetically.

“Sorry. I probably should have picked something a little… lighter.”

“It’s fine. I’m glad you told me, actually.”

We walked in silence for a while, hand-in-hand. I was reminded of Anna’s words from earlier, _You can tell me all about how he’s secretly a gentleman_. I chuckled to myself. 

“God, I haven’t been on a date in forever.” I noted, mostly to myself. Warren looked down at me, and I was struck again by the fact that he was only a few inches taller than I was. I can’t tell you how tempted I was to kiss him right there. Just rise up to my tiptoes and press my lips to his.

“Me either.” he said. I raised my eyebrows at that. 

“Really?” I couldn’t really believe it. It certainly seemed like the crowd fawned over him last Friday. There had to have been someone. Any girl in the crowd - and probably some of the guys too - would jump at the chance at going out with Angel, the champion fighter. I certainly was - though I was more drawn to the _Warren_ side of him, the clever and funny and _real_ side, not the overconfident battle-ready persona he put on.

“Not a real date, no. Not one that actually meant anything.” My heart stuttered a bit at his response. Clearly this meant as much to him as it did to me. 

“Can I give you a lift home?” he offered. As much as I’d like to stay, it was getting late, and Warren realized that.

“I’d like that.” He pulled his hand away from mine, wrapping his arm around my waist instead. I wrapped my arms around his neck. He waited for my nod, making sure I was ready, before kicking off the ground and lofting into the air. The wind chilled me up here, even with his arms around me, and I found myself curling closer to his warmth. 

The flight was over too soon. He landed in front of my apartment - nobody was out at this hour anyway, and disentangled his arms from my waist. I took a step back, albeit reluctantly. Warren’s green eyes met mine, and I felt my face go red. 

“This was really nice.” I said, still not wanting to leave. 

“When can I see you again?” he asked, his confident facade breaking into genuine eagerness. 

“Soon.” I said vaguely. Better keep him on his toes. Just a little. He flashed me that lopsided smile again, taking a step closer to me. He brought his hand up, tucking a piece of hair that had escaped my braid carefully behind my ear. He kept his hand there, cupped around my face. He leaned down, pausing as if waiting for my approval. I closed the gap, rising up slightly to press my lips against his. 

It was different from when we’d kissed at the train station. Slower, sweeter, not nearly so frantic. And this time he was kissing me because he _wanted_ to, not just to avoid being recognized. His mouth moved against mine, hands finding their way to my lower back. After a long moment, he pulled back. His green eyes were bright, and I got a little lost in them. 

I was the first one to speak. Ten digits, spoken low and hushed so as not to break this delicate moment. The corner of his mouth twitched upwards as he committed my phone number to memory. 

“I’ll call you, then.” he murmured. He pulled me in for another kiss, this one quicker than the first. When he stepped back a moment later, I met his eyes.

“You better.” I joked, “I don’t just give my number out to anyone.” He chuckled, again causing goosebumps to rise up my back. I decided I liked his laugh. A lot. I took a small step back, opening the door to the building. 

“I’m in number 48. On the fourth floor. If you wanted to visit sometime.” I stammered awkwardly, taking a step inside. I kept the door open for a moment, watching Warren’s nod in agreement. After a second, he ran a hand over his hair and spread his wings. As he took off, I stepped inside. Not the smoothest goodbye, but it would be far from the last time we’d see each other. At least, I hoped it would. 

I practically skipped up the stairs - there was an elevator, but I rarely used it - and quietly opened the door. It was later than I expected, and Anna usually liked to turn in early. But she met me at the door, looking bright and mischievous. 

“Tell me all about it.” she demanded, dragging me to the kitchen table. 

So I did.


	5. Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rae finds herself back at Fight Night, but she’s not there for the fighting

I slipped the bouncer some cash, covering the entrance fee. I told Anna I wouldn’t come along tonight, but I found myself slipping into my second-favorite dress (I still needed to get my other one stitched up) the moment she left. It wasn’t quite as nice as the other one, nor as comfortable, but it was good enough. Dark green, backless like the other (I had a bit of a penchant for backless dresses), with a skirt that dropped below my knees. There was a slit on one side that showed off a bit of thigh. 

I dipped inside, finding a spot among the crowds of people on the second floor. I could see Anna below, dressed flashy as always and dancing with some guy. Even with my late arrival, I had a few minutes before the “show” started. I don’t know why I decided to come. Wait, scratch that. I knew _exactly_ why I came here - I wanted to see Warren again - but for some reason I hadn’t just _called_ him or visited his apartment like a normal person. 

I pushed past a few people, coming up towards the banister that blocked off the step drop from the balcony. The balcony was about even with the rafters that ran across the cage - that was probably intentional. Anything to give the audience a better show. 

The announcer’s box was close to the balcony I stood on. I’d probably wind up regretting that, if the ringing in my ears from last week was any indication. The announcer stepped in, this time wearing a lime green suit with black decals. The suit had truly awful shoulderpads, so pointy they could take out an eye if he turned his head the wrong way. He tapped his microphone, sending a burst of noise echoing through the room, and the crowd collectively winced. The show was about to begin.

Warren swooped in at the announcer’s overdramatic introduction. He pulled the same routine as last week: flying up to the rafters, raising his wings high, shouting out to the audience. He didn’t notice me, which I found myself grateful for. I realized a moment too late that I might be a distraction to him, and I really didn’t want to throw off his momentum. 

Tonight’s opponent was some kind of strongman, though he didn’t look the part. He was an older gentleman, and looked more suited to a game of chess in the park than a deadly fighting ring. One punch sent shudders through the metal of the cage, though, and the electricity didn’t seem to bother him. Even with his surprising strength, Warren took him down easily. He knocked him out in the first round, but the strongman got back up before time was called. 

Warren flew up to the rafters, assessing his opponent. The other man sent strong blows into the side of the cage, making the rafters shake. For a single, terrifying moment, Warren nearly lost his footing. He managed to regain his balance, flaring his wings out. Warren dropped down, hooking his hands over the rafter and swinging his legs in a fierce kick to the strongman’s head. This time he stayed down. Warren scratched his thirteenth tally into the wooden floor.

I slipped out the door, pausing just outside the building. I knew Warren would meet me out here at some point. I leaned against the brick wall, keeping an eye out. After a few minutes of people-watching, I heard the metal door open in the alley behind me. I turned my head, seeing familiar green eyes and white wings. He started when he saw me, freezing for a moment before walking quickly over.

“What are you doing here? They’ve added more guards, for the record. It’d be suicide to try that again.” he said quickly, leaning in close so no passersby could hear our conversation. His wings folded up around us, providing relative privacy on the busy street. He brought his hand up, gently brushing his fingers against the bruises on my throat. They’d finally started to fade, enough that I could forgo the makeup this time. 

“No, no.” I stopped him, “I just… I just wanted to see you again.”

“Oh.” All the anger seemed to drain out of him, “Okay.” His wings dropped down a bit, no longer hiding us from the other people on the street. 

“Are you done fighting for tonight?” I asked hesitantly. I still wasn’t entirely sure how the system worked. He fought on Fridays at 8, that’s all I knew. 

“Yeah. We could head over to my flat? Or grab dinner?” he offered. 

“I already ate.” I said.

“My place, then?” 

“I’d love to.” I agreed, taking his hand. I’d left a note for Anna before I left - knowing that I’d probably be out later than her. _Going out. Be back late. Don’t worry. - R_. I’d stuck it right on the kitchen table, using a bright pink Post-it note. Even Anna’s worrywart brain couldn’t miss it. 

In what was becoming a routine motion, he wrapped his arms around me and launched into the sky. I could see pedestrians below us shooting glares, the gust of wind from his wingbeats nearly knocking the closest of them over. Thankfully the skirt of my dress was long enough to not… ahem… reveal anything. Warren leaned in, whispering directly in my ear to be heard over the rushing wind. 

“You look _incredible_ in green, by the way.” he purred. Trails of goosebumps rose on my skin, and not from the cold. His eyes met mine for a moment, and the side of his mouth twitched upwards. I decided green was my favorite color. 

Warren landed on his balcony and set me down gently, taking a step away from me to unlock the door. He held the door for me, following me inside. He closed the door behind himself, stripping off his leather jacket and hanging it up. The dark shirt he wore underneath hugged his body tightly, and my gaze may have strayed a moment too long on his muscular chest. 

“I’m going to take a shower. Make yourself at home.” he said, gesturing towards the room. He stepped gracefully past me and down the hallway, and after a moment I could hear water running. I hesitated a moment - it didn’t matter that I’d been here before, didn’t matter that technically we were a _thing_ now, there was something so personal to being left to my own devices in his apartment.

After my moment of hesitation, I kicked off my shoes since they were starting to pinch my feet, chose a book from his bookcase, and curled up on the couch. It was a book I hadn’t read before, in any language. Bit of a surprise given how much time I spent reading - my job mostly entailed taking literature from one language and translating it into another. 

It was some crime thriller from a few years ago. It was pretty good, actually, and I found myself more engaged with the book than I expected. It was only when the sofa dipped beside me that I even noticed Warren had returned.

“Good book, huh?” he asked from beside me. I spared him a glance. His hair was damp, gently framing his face. He had changed into a clean white T-shirt and sweats, with a towel still around his shoulders. I held up the book to show him the cover.

“Ah yeah, Red Dragon. That one’s good. There’s a twist at the-”

“Spoilers!” I cut him off indignantly. He shrugged, pulling one wing around himself and gently running his fingers through the damp feathers. The practiced way he aligned the feathers made it clear that this was a routine for him. 

“So… thirteen wins?” I asked as casually as I could. I wanted to learn more about the system, and this seemed like as good a time as any. He glanced up at me, gauging my expression, before returning his focus to preening his wings.

“This season, yeah. They do brackets. When this one is over they’ll rip up the old paneling and put in new ones.” So he had more than thirteen wins. _Way_ more, from the sound of it.

“How many fights do you put in a week?” _How worried should I be for your safety?_ I really wanted our relationship to last more than a week.

“Just the one, every Friday. They do other fights the rest of the week, the winners go to me.” He didn’t seem offended by the questions. He ran his fingers over his wings one final time before folding them gently against his back. “So to answer your _real_ question, I’m only risking my life once a week.” 

He stood then, gently crossing in front of me to grab a book of his own. When he sat back down, he was much closer to me. Not that I was complaining about that. I scooted over, closing the distance between us so that I could lean against his shoulder. He sighed contentedly, stretching his wings to the side so they weren’t pinned against the couch. He flipped open his book, and I noticed he’d chosen ‘Salem’s Lot. 

“ ‘Salem’s Lot. Good pick. There’s a twist at the-” I said, mocking him. 

“You’ve made your point!” he interjected. I chuckled, leaning my head back against his shoulder. From what I could remember, there wasn’t _actually_ a twist at the end of ‘Salem’s Lot. No more than any other Stephen King book, at least. I was just messing with him. 

We didn’t say much. We didn’t _need_ to say much. He got absorbed in his book, and I got back into mine. It was really nice, actually. I had always been a fan of the simple things above elaborate dates and things like that. Just the… comfortable domesticity of this, I found it sweet. Being able to share space without needing to fill it with words or big gestures. 

After a few hours of this, I found myself stifling yawns. It was getting late, and being pressed up against Warren’s body heat like this was making me tired. I doubted he would mind if I fell asleep, but I had work in the morning, and all my stuff was back at my apartment. I closed my book, setting it on the coffee table in front of me. I glanced up at Warren.

“D’you mind giving me a lift home?” I asked softly. Without hesitation, Warren set down his book and shifted so he was sitting a bit more upright.

“Of course.” he replied, standing to grab his jacket off a hook by the door. I stood as well, stretching before grabbing my shoes and slipping them on. Warren pulled me into his arms, flying back to my apartment complex. Rather than dip towards the entrance like he usually did, he stayed aloft and flew in a slow circle around the building.

“Fourth floor, right?” he murmured in my ear. I nodded. “Which one?” It was weird, trying to figure out what my apartment looked like from the outside. It didn’t help that Anna and I rarely used the balcony, and we didn’t have anything identifying out there. I recognized a piece of artwork hanging in view of one of the windows, though, and pointed Warren towards the proper balcony. 

I tried the door. Locked. Why did we lock the door to our fourth-floor balcony anyway? You’d either have to be some kind of parkour genius or, well, Warren to get in from this side. I rapped on the glass, hoping Anna was still awake. 

After a moment, she walked over to the door, mug of tea in hand and looking confused. She startled when she saw me standing on the balcony like that, but one glance at Warren and she connected the dots. She rolled her eyes jokingly and flipped the latch on the door. 

I heard Warren shift behind me, preparing to leave, but I spun around and grabbed the collar of his jacket before he could fly away. I pulled him into a quick kiss, and I felt his hands stray to my waist before I pulled away.

“Goodnight, Warren.” He stroked his thumb over my side, just under my ribs. It sent chills up my spine in the best way. 

“Goodnight, Rae.” There was a promise in his voice, a promise that he’d see me again soon. He brushed another chaste kiss across my lips before pulling away and kicking off the balcony to soar away. Once he was out of sight, I slipped through the door and into my apartment.

“God, you two are adorable. Should I start leaving the balcony door unlocked?” Anna said from the couch as soon as I was within earshot. I shucked off my shoes and kicked them over by the door.

“I know you’re mocking me, but that would actually be helpful.” I said, too tired to banter with her. She seems to sense this, and lays off. Though I know she’ll be back at it tomorrow morning. 

I take a quick shower and slip into my pajamas. Tomorrow was Saturday, but a local school had called me as a translator for this conference thing they had, and I needed to be there by 8 am. I set an alarm, falling into bed. I was asleep practically before my head hit the pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- yes I put a 6 Underground reference in there and yes there are probably going to be more references to Ben Hardy's movies in other chapters


	6. Bandaged Wounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some fights are worse than others. At least this time Warren has someone to patch him up.

We’d fallen into a sort of rhythm after that. Every Friday I’d come to see Warren fight, then we’d head back to his apartment just to spend time together. Maybe our relationship moved a little quickly, but we both knew we might not have the chance to take it slow. Each win only granted us one more week. 168 hours. 10,080 minutes. 

The thought saddened me - knowing that one little slip on an unlucky Friday could be the end. But I tried to make the best of it. I’d rather celebrate the time we _had_ been given than lament the things we’d missed. 

It’d been like this for weeks now. We’d gone on several dates during the weekdays - out to dinner, or catching a movie, or simply walking along the streets of Berlin. We were grasping at some semblance of normalcy. Going to see the latest Star Wars movie and trying to pretend that we were a normal couple. A couple with a future that lasted longer than the next week. 

Sometimes I wondered if that was all it was. Warren trying to grasp at some normalcy before the ring took its toll on him. I’d read somewhere that people formed bonds in crisis. We’d met in stress, and the presence of the fighting ring hung over our heads like a guillotine. Maybe we just didn’t want to be alone when that deadly blade came crashing down. 

I’d like to think it was more than that, though. The people who wrote that article didn’t see the way Warren glanced at me when he thought I wasn’t looking, or the way he clung to my hand like a lifeline. They didn’t see the look in his eyes when I could tell he was thinking about the future. He wanted one just as badly as I did. 

But until then, I’d meet him every Friday outside the warehouse before he got ready for the fight. He’d land in the alley, where I’d be waiting for him. Usually we had time to talk for a few minutes, and then he’d kiss me like it was the last time he ever would. Because there was always the fear that it was. Then he’d go inside to prep, and I’d find a spot on the second floor to watch the fight. 

This week’s fight had been rough. Warren had gone up against some feral mutant: a tall, lean woman with razor-sharp claws at her fingertips. She’d finally gone down in the fifth round, but not without carving some painful-looking gouges in Warren’s skin. He acted like they didn’t bother him, but I could see the way he winced when he landed on the balcony to his apartment.

He beelined for the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of scotch and downing it in one swallow. He refilled the glass. He didn’t drink much anymore. Only when he was upset, like when a fight got too close for comfort. Like tonight. 

I brushed past him, grabbing the first-aid kit I knew he kept under the sink. I hadn’t had to use it often, thank God, but these wounds needed to be stitched and dressed. I walked over to the couch, setting the kit on the coffee table and opening it. 

“C’mere. You got cut up pretty bad tonight.” I said. Warren glanced up at me.

“They’ll heal.” he muttered, downing his second glass of scotch and refilling it again. He took a long drink, draining the glass for the third time, then set it down by the sink.

“They’ll heal _better_ if I stitch them.” I insisted, already grabbing the needle and surgical thread. Warren relented, walking over to the couch and sitting next to me. He peeled off his shirt, wincing as the fabric slid over the open wounds. He’d taken a heavy swipe across the ribs from the woman’s claws, and I’d seen her slash at his back too. 

I could see a lot of old scars crossing his muscular chest. Clearly he didn’t usually have them stitched, most of the scars had healed over roughly. I knew he recovered quickly: healing factor, he called it. Another aspect of his mutation. The claw marks from today had already stopped bleeding, though dried blood caked the right side of his body. His abs flexed as he shifted to give me a better view of the wound. _Focus, Rae. Now is not the time._

“Lie down.” I said, prodding him gently on his uninjured side. He obliged, leaning back against the couch and looping his hands behind his head. I grabbed an antiseptic pad, wiping off some of the dried blood so I could see the extent of the gashes.

“I need to clean the wound. This might sting.” I warned. Warren nodded. I flushed the wound with antiseptic, feeling a pang of guilt as his muscles stiffened with pain. Thankfully I got the job done quickly, but the worst was yet to come. I readied my needle, trying to make conversation to distract Warren.

“So am I going to have to come back in two days to take the stitches out?” I muttered as I started my first pass with the needle. Warren hissed in pain but to his credit didn’t flinch away.

“I got the dissolving kind. Since I heal so fast.” he responded as I ran stitches down his side. 

“Smart.” 

“Do you even know how to run a stitch?” he asked, gritting his teeth. The gashes were wide and ugly, and on top of it all in a very painful place. The wounds pulled every time he breathed, it couldn’t have been pleasant in the slightest.

“My sister taught me. She’s a nurse.” I said, “She made me practice on chicken breasts.” 

“Should I be worried?” he joked dryly, flexing his wings for emphasis and then wincing when that aggravated his wounds. He was silent for a long moment.

“Tell me more.” he requested softly. 

“About what?”

“Your sister. Your family. Distract me.” I paused a moment, thinking, before I responded.

“I’m the middle child. My older sister - the one who’s a nurse - is 28, her name’s Jess, and my little sister is in uni. Her name is Virginia, we call her Ginny. My parents wanted to make sure we had choices, that we could use our full names or a nickname if we wanted.”

“What’s your full name, then?” he asked, face still tight with pain as I closed off the first row of stitches.

“Rachel. But don’t you dare call me that.” I replied. He chuckled. I started on the next line of stitches, continuing my story as I did so. “Me and my sisters loved to run around the fields by our house. Sometimes our grandma would go with us, and Ginny would always try to climb up on these rock structures that we found.” At his surprised glance, I assured him: “Don’t worry, they weren’t very high.”

“My grandparents lived right down the street from us. Like I said, it was a small town. They died when I was pretty young, but we were close. I remember one time, I was maybe… eight? Which would have made Ginny four… yeah that sounds right. Anyway, Ginny had wanted to climb this big rock, but she couldn’t find a path up. She threw a tantrum - you know how kids are. So my grandma took my hand, and Ginny’s in her other, and she told us to close our eyes. We walked up this… ramp… and when we opened our eyes we were at the top. Ginny loved it.”

Warren shifted upwards suddenly, almost making me miss a stitch. “Your grandma was a mutant?”

“Hey! Stitches!” I yelped, pushing him back down.

“Sorry. Your grandma was a mutant?” he repeated, green eyes locked on mine.

“Yeah. My mom said she could create things. Bridges of energy and stuff. That was the only time I saw it though. She didn’t want me and my sisters running around telling all the neighbors.”

“Mutations run in families, you know.” he murmured, then hissed in pain as I started the next row of stitches. 

“I know. But don’t get your hopes up. Both my parents are human, and so is the rest of my family. My grandma was just lucky, I guess.”

“Lucky?” He sounded confused that I’d consider her lucky to be a mutant, of all things. 

“Well… yeah. She had extraordinary abilities. She could do things nobody else could do, and on top of it all she was a genuinely good person. Maybe the situation she was in wasn’t great, she’d dealt with some mutant hatred in her life, but she stayed a good person anyway. She was lucky. To be given power and not let it beat her down.” I got the sense we weren’t entirely talking about my grandmother anymore. I ducked my head, tying off the completed row of stitches as an excuse to hide my blush. One more row of stitches to do, and this gash was smaller than the others. 

Warren didn’t say anything. I started work on the last row of stitches, falling into a bit of a rhythm. Warren’s hand came up, gently tucking a stray bit of hair behind my ear. His fingers stayed, grazing delicately over my scalp.

“You look beautiful when you’re focused.” he said. 

“Is this the alcohol or the blood loss talking?” I muttered, trying to ignore the way his fingers danced through my hair.

“Neither. I’m serious.” Warren replied, tilting his head at me. I blushed, then reached up to gently pull his hand away from my face. I traced my fingers over his palm.

“Stop distracting me, I’m almost done.” I released his hand, finishing up the last few stitches and tying them off. To be honest Warren, shirtless and lying practically in my lap, was one _huge_ distraction. I ran my fingers carefully over the stitches, inspecting my handiwork. For someone who was decidedly _not_ a nurse, not bad. 

“Okay, flip over. I saw her claw up your back too.” I instructed. Warren sat up carefully, wincing slightly at the movement.

“It’s okay, those aren’t so bad. I’ll be alright.” 

“Warren.” I said simply. I don’t know _why_ he had such hesitation for letting me stitch up the lacerations on his back, especially after I’d just finished the ones on his ribs. After a long moment, he sighed and turned so his back was to me. He spread his wings slightly so they were out of the way.

He was right, these gashes weren’t so bad, but they’d still need stitches. He had more old scars on his back. Most of them were clustered around the base of his wings, and I frowned. Did they usually go for his wings when he fought? That seemed cruel, not to mention painful. 

I cleaned the wounds as I had before, and began stitching them up. Warren didn’t flinch as much on this side - he must’ve been getting used to the feeling of stitches, or this was a less sensitive area for him. There were only two deep gashes to stitch up - it was more of a glancing blow, and the feral woman’s claws hadn’t found much purchase on his back. 

Warren was silent as I got the wounds stitched up. He seemed stressed over something, though I couldn’t figure out what. It wasn’t like this was the first time I’d seen his wings up close, and though some of the old scars were a little gruesome, it wasn’t like they were going to scare me away. The opposite, actually. Scars mean you’re stronger than the thing that tried to kill you, and I was grateful for his strength. 

I finished up these stitches easily and tied them off, setting the needle and excess thread down on the coffee table. I ran my fingers over the scars on his back, and I felt Warren sigh. There was a particularly bad one that crossed diagonally over his spine, long and red and raised. I wondered where he’d gotten it. And with his accelerated healing, how bad did the original wound have to be if the scar was still that prominent?

My fingers drifted up to the base of his wings, towards the cluster of rough scars that gathered there. Warren flinched away, and I quickly pulled my hand back.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-” I hastily apologized, but he cut me off.

“I used to hate them.” His voice was low, I almost missed what he said. “I tried to cut them off, when I was a kid. It didn’t work.” So the scars weren’t from opponents in the ring. They were self-inflicted. It broke my heart that he used to think that things as rare and beautiful as his wings would need to be removed. 

I reached out again, to the spot where his wings began right over his shoulder blades. This time he didn’t flinch away. My fingers followed the curve of his right wing, over the downy white feathers, and I felt Warren shiver. At first I thought I was making him uncomfortable, but then he leaned back, into the touch, ever so slightly. I trailed my fingertips downward, aligning the feathers the way I’d seen Warren do every week. The edges of the feathers were stained with red. I couldn’t tell whose blood it was - his or his opponent’s. 

I saw the muscles in his back relax as I stroked my fingers over his wings. I imagined the adrenaline of the fight was only just now wearing off, his body allowing itself to unwind as it realized he had in fact survived. Warren let out a drowsy hum of contentment at the touch.

This was rare. Warren didn’t often let himself be vulnerable like this, even around me. Sure, he dropped the overconfident façade whenever he was out of the ring, but he still felt like he had to soldier through everything he dealt with on his own. Even earlier tonight with his hesitancy to let me tend to his wounds, he clearly wasn’t used to sharing his burdens with anyone else. 

Which gave me mixed feelings. On the one hand, this display of trust delighted me. The fact that he felt comfortable enough around me for something like this, well… I was beginning to realize just _how_ deeply I cared for him. On the other, the fact that he’d been forced to become self-reliant for so long sent a pang of grief through my chest. His mother was deceased, and it was his father who had sold him to the ring in the first place. He hadn’t told me much about his history, but clearly he’d gone from a pretty bad situation to a decidedly awful one. 

I switched to preening his left wing, glancing down at the myriad of scars on his back as I did so. So many fights. And yet if it weren’t for the fights, I’d never have met him. Again, mixed feelings. 

Warren’s head dipped, like he was dozing off. I moved my hands to his shoulders, easing him downward - gently! I didn’t want to pull his stitches! - until his head was in my lap. He exhaled deeply as my fingers found their way into his hair. After a moment his eyes cracked open, looking up at me. He gave me a lazy smile.

“I don’t deserve you.” he breathed, looking at me like I was some sort of treasure. 

“You deserve better.” I replied. I meant it. He deserved better than taking life a week at a time like this. He deserved a relationship that didn’t involve stitching up bloody wounds on the couch. Warren’s green eyes searched mine, and after a moment he shifted.

“I’m gonna wash this blood off before I fall asleep.” Warren muttered, carefully standing up. 

“Yeah, it’s getting late. I should probably get going.” He looked back at my response. His eyebrows furrowed.

“You could stay.” he offered simply. He opened his mouth like he wanted to say more, but decided against it. He turned, picking his way down the hallway to the back of the apartment. If he’d stayed a moment longer, he would have seen the way my face went red, all the way to the tips of my ears.


	7. Sunrise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While one person dreams hopefully about the future, another is facing a glimpse of the unfortunate reality. Takes place directly after the previous chapter.

Which is how I wound up waking up in Warren’s bed on Saturday morning.

We hadn’t done anything, not in _that_ sense. We’d simply shared a bed in the most literal sense of the phrase. Well… maybe not the _most_ literal. 

Warren had gone off to shower. I worked on repacking the first aid kit and set it back in the space under the sink. I grabbed a book off his bookshelf - I’d finished Red Dragon weeks ago - and sat down to wait for him. We’d cuddled on the couch for a while, until both of us were half-asleep anyway. He’d lent me one of his hoodies so I didn’t have to spend the night in my party dress. 

Because of the wings, Warren was a stomach-sleeper. I was a back sleeper, and the single-sized bed in his apartment forced us to get a little cozy. And so he’d wound up half-sprawled on top of me, with his head resting on the space between my neck and shoulder. I could feel his breathing steadily against my collarbone. He’d thrown an arm around my waist, and his fingertips were warm across my ribs.

He’d fallen asleep first, mostly because I was still reeling from being curled up so close like this. But eventually the steady rhythm of his breathing and the warmth of his body heat had lulled me to sleep as well. 

____  
_Rae hadn’t come home last night. I figured she’d decided to spend the night at Warren’s. I wasn’t surprised, nor was I bothered. It was good to have the apartment to myself last night. The visions had returned._

_This one had no images or words. But I could feel pain. It didn’t belong to me, I knew. It was a… ripping feeling just behind my shoulder blades, accompanied by the sound of sharpening blades. And again, that sense of indiscernible power I’d felt before. I didn’t know what it meant._

_But I felt every bit of the pain like it was my own. It had caught me while I was in the shower, leaving me curled up and sobbing under the stream of water. It was pathetic, and I was grateful Rae wasn’t there to witness it. I know she’d have insisted on taking me to the hospital, or even getting help from another, more experienced telepath like Charles Xavier._

_Then, as my visions usually do, it just disappeared. Not even a gradual fade - the pain was there one moment, and was nothing but a memory the next. Which made it even more difficult to figure out what would happen to cause such pain, and to whom._

_It didn’t feel like being stabbed. At least, not what I imagined being stabbed would feel like. The pain moved_ outwards _, like my shoulder blades were trying to fight their way out of my skin. And the sense of power was the same as I’d felt in the other vision, the one with the fighting in Cairo. At first I had thought that it was an event generating the feeling of power. Like a volcano or an earthquake, something dangerous that could not be controlled. But with this development, I began to think that this was a person._

_What kind of mutant could generate enough power to rival a hurricane? It sent a chill down my spine. Whoever they were, they were the kind of mutant that demanded fear. And it certainly scared me._

____  
I woke up the next morning vaguely confused. There was someone else in my bed. Or - wait, this wasn’t my apartment at all. I was in someone else’s bed? My half-asleep thoughts caught up to me when my eyes fell on mussed blond curls. Ah, right. I’d stayed over at Warren’s place last night. 

He was still asleep, and the early morning light framed his face in gold. It caught on his hair too, making it shine like a halo. His arm was still around my waist, though he’d shifted onto his side at some point in the night. The scratches on his chest were already looking better, it would only be a couple days until they were fully healed. I couldn’t see the ones on his back from here, but those scratches weren’t as bad. I was sure they’d be healing well. 

I managed to extricate myself carefully from his arms without waking him, and quietly crossed the room to get to the bathroom. Since I hadn’t had the foresight to bring a change of clothes, I had to wear the same dress I’d worn to the fight last night. When I reentered the bedroom, Warren was awake and sitting up on his elbows. He rubbed his eyes, smiling blearily at me. I couldn’t help but smile back. 

I sat down on the edge of the bed as he grabbed a shirt from his dresser and put it on. He ducked into the bathroom for a few minutes, returning with tidied hair and a more awake expression. 

“Want to go grab some breakfast?” 

“Not sure my dress is appropriate for a brunch place.” I mentioned, gesturing to myself. He passed a hand over his hair, giving me a one-sided shrug. “But I could stop by my apartment and change.” 

So that’s what we did. Warren grabbed his jacket and gave me a lift back to my apartment, politely watching TV on the couch as I got changed into a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt. I also swapped my heels for my favorite pair of sneakers. There. Much more comfortable. Anna was at work, and I silently thanked her for leaving the balcony door unlocked. Saved us a bit of effort and about four flights of stairs.

We found this little mom-and-pop cafe a few streets down and got a table by the window. I ordered crepes and a latte, Warren went with a sandwich and a coffee of his own. He held my hand across the table while we chatted and waited for our food. 

“What’s your favorite song?” I asked Warren. We were playing this little game of trading favorites, and it was my turn to pick a topic.

“Dunno if I can pick just one.” he replied, tilting his head, “Probably something by Aerosmith. Or Queen.” I nodded approvingly. He was a man after my own heart, with his taste in music. “What about you?”

“I love rock music too, but I think the mantle of ‘favorite song’ goes to April Come She Will by Simon & Garfunkel.” 

“Never heard of it. What does it sound like?” I hesitated a moment. My singing voice wasn’t the best, and above it all we were in public. But something in Warren’s curious green eyes prompted me to sing a bit of the song, voice hushed to not disturb the other diners. 

“ _April, come she will / When streams are ripe and swelled with rain / May, she will stay / Resting in my arms again._ ” I sing, just loud enough for Warren to hear. 

“It’s pretty.” 

“It gets kind of sad, later on. I’ll have to show you the full song at some point, my voice doesn’t really do it justice.” I half-joked, feeling a little self-conscious. I caught an older couple glancing at us as they passed our table. The man looked displeased, but the woman gave me a wistful smile, like she was thinking of similar memories from her own life. She reminded me of my grandmother, though the two looked nothing alike. Something about the conspiratorial gleam in her eyes, like she was letting me in on a joke. 

“Your turn.” I said, nodding my head at Warren. 

“Favorite color?”

“Weak.” I tease, but oblige. “Green. You?”

“Orange? But sort of like an orange-grayish color. It’s the color of the clouds at sunrise.” Damn. That was actually pretty poetic. Way to make my half-hearted ‘green’ sound extra pathetic. I didn’t mind, though. Warren was the kind of person who paid attention to everything around him. Sometimes that was a bane - he caught all the sidelong glances people’d sometimes send his way, the way they appraised his wings when they thought he wasn’t paying attention. But most of the time it was sweet. He was a smooth talker, he always seemed to know what to say. I found it charming. 

It was past noon when I made it back to my apartment. We’d spent all morning talking about nothing, walking along the streets and dipping into shops here and there. It was surprisingly… normal. Imagine the parallels. Last night I was stitching up his wounds, this morning we were having brunch like any other young couple. Despite my inner logic telling me how slim the chances were, I wished that we could someday reach a point where the former was just a distant memory. 

It could become a routine. Waking up next to Warren, eating breakfast beside him. A quick good-bye kiss as I ran off to work. I didn’t know what job he’d have once he got out of the ring. Maybe something that used his skills with a bit less danger. Like a boxing instructor. Or maybe he’d pick something as far away from fighting as he could - become a writer or an engineer or something. Whatever made him happy. And the scars on his chest would fade with time, and so would that little trace of fear that lingered in his green eyes, like the present could be snatched away from him at any moment. 

Instead of going to Fight Night on Fridays, we could go to a normal club - or maybe not, since alcohol wasn’t my thing. Going out to movies, bookstores, restaurants, or just staying in. Double-dates with Anna and her beau. Bringing Warren home to meet my parents, my sisters. They’d love him, I know. Mom would give him The Look, but then Warren would compliment her sundress or offer to help with dinner or some other little display of etiquette and then they’d be chatting like old friends. Even my dad, the grumpy old Scot, would offer Warren a beer and teach him some Gaelic swears. 

I didn’t go so far as to imagine past that: marriage, or little green-eyed children, or anything like that. I knew that even my little domestic fantasy would have a snowball’s chance in Hell of coming true, but it was nice to dream. 

Morbid curiosity almost prompted me to ask Anna about what futures she’d seen, if any. But I knew that was just setting myself up for pain, so I held my tongue. 

Best to keep my head out of the clouds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Link to April Come She Will (it really is a beautiful song, highly recommend): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PYD-DIggB2k


	8. Waltz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warren and Rae go out for a fancy dinner. It doesn’t turn out as they hoped… but that’s not a bad thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Comments and kudos are always appreciated! I love feedback

“Hey Anna, can I borrow a dress?” I yelled down the hall to my friend. Warren and I were going out to a fairly upscale restaurant tonight, and I didn’t have anything nice enough to wear. I hadn’t brought any formal dresses with me from Scotland, and the things I’d been wearing to Fight Night wouldn’t cut it. 

“Yeah, sure. Let me find you something.” Anna shouted back. I heard her footsteps disappear fade as she disappeared into her room. She came back a moment later with a long silver dress. It would probably reach ankle-length on her, which meant it would hit mid-calf on me. It was stunning.

“Here. Don’t rip this one.” she teased. I still needed to get my black dress tailored - I still hadn’t stitched up the wide tear it had run into at that first fight. Two months ago now. Wow. 

“I won’t. Thanks, _Schatzi._ ” 

“Where are you guys going, anyway?”

“Belmondo.” I replied excitedly. Anna squealed. 

“That expensive French place on the other side of town?” 

“Aye, yeah.” I chirped quickly. Anna giggled.

“You went Scottish there for a second.” I gave her a mocking glare.

“I _am_ Scottish.” She stuck out her tongue at me.

“You know what I mean!”

“Aye, yeah. I do.” I joked, overemphasizing my slight brogue, “Now let me get changed! I don’t want to be late.” I shut the door gently, hearing Anna laughing on the other side. 

The dress was gorgeous, and fit me surprisingly well given the height difference between me and Anna. I’d done my hair up in a complex knot - I hoped Warren would agree to walk down to the restaurant, there was no way this hairstyle would survive the wind. I was just touching up my eyeshadow when the doorbell rang. 

I slipped on a pair of heels and grabbed my purse, meeting Warren at the door. He was dressed equally formally - a dark suit jacket, a silver shirt that matched my dress, a green tie. For a moment he looked stunned ( _lovestruck_ , even) before he cleared his throat and offered me his arm. 

“You look incredible.” 

“So do you.” I said earnestly, taking his arm. As much as I loved the whole leather-jacket look, he looked _damn_ good in a suit. 

_Smit-ten._ I heard Anna’s voice in my mind, emphasizing each syllable. I turned to glance at her, and saw her smirking at us. 

_Me or him?_

_Both of you. See you tomorrow morning, Schatzi. Don’t rip my dress._

I stifled an awkward cough at her implication, and I was sure my face was turning beet red. I shot Anna a glare.

“Is Anna saying something to you?” Warren asked, apparently confused at my pointed expression. 

“Yeah.” I laughed. 

“Do I want to know?”

“Probably not.” I said, then added, “Hey, could we walk to the restaurant? I don’t want to mess up my hair.”

 _Not until_ after _dinner, you mean._

 _Anna!_ I snapped at her mentally, then heard her snicker from inside the apartment. I was fine with mental communication - it didn’t trigger my phobia or anything - but sometimes Anna took the fact that nobody else could hear her a little for granted. 

“Course. Should we get going, then?” I nodded, and we made our way down the stairs and out to the street. The walk would take us a few minutes, but I didn’t mind. Warren had said his reservation was for 7, so we had a bit of time to spare. 

“Have you ever eaten at Belmondo before?” Warren asked.

“No. Only been here a few months, remember? And besides, it’s sort of above my budget. Have you?”

“A few times. Boss likes expensive food. But this will be nice. My treat.”

“Are you sure? I’m good to split like usual.” Most of the time, we split the bill on dates. After all, dates were about spending time together, not about who paid for what. At least in my eyes. 

“I’m sure.” he confirmed. He took a deep breath after a moment, then spoke again. His eyes had taken on a solemn light. “I… I wanted to make sure I got the chance to take you out to a fancy dinner at least once. They’re starting a new bracket. Increasing my fight count.”

I squeezed his hand, twice in quick succession. _Pulse pulse_. It was something my family had done, a silent signal of comfort. I couldn’t really describe what it meant, anywhere from “I’m here” to “It’ll be okay” to “I love you”. I’d done it with Warren one night without really realizing it, and from there he’d asked me to teach him what it meant. Apparently he was fond of it, because he’d picked up the habit. Warren squeezed my hand the same way, _pulse pulse_ , in response. 

“Why are they doing this?” my voice came out softer than I intended.

“Apparently a lot of people leave after the first fight. They’re switching me to three fights a night, instead of one. Trying to draw more people in, get them to spend more money at the bar. Anything to increase sales, right?” His voice had gone bitter, and he stared at the ground. I squeezed his hand again, and leaned a little against his shoulder. It was a little tough since we were still walking (especially given my heels brought us close to the same height), but I needed to be close to him. Needed to comfort him. 

“One week at a time, right?” I murmured. I felt him take a deep breath, saw him nod from the corner of my eye.

“One week at a time.” he muttered, more to himself than anything. I wanted to say more, but we were coming up on Belmondo. Warren straightened, and I pulled myself back from his shoulder. We were going to have a wonderful meal, and we were _not_ going to think about this new development right now. 

We walked up to the maitre d’, who shot a not-so-subtle glance at Warren’s exposed wings as he greeted us. Jesus, some people. I could almost understand the glances - Warren’s wings were quite striking, and mutant equality was still a new deal besides - but you’d think they could be a bit less rude about it.

“Sorry, sir, we’re booked full tonight.”

“I have a reservation. Last name Worthington, for 7 o’clock?” The man at the desk thumbed through his book with a small frown. 

“I have you on the list, sir, but I’m afraid we don’t have any available tables. An… important party made an unexpected arrival.” Warren swore under his breath. I got the feeling he knew exactly what “important party” had filled those tables. 

“We could reschedule you, if you’d like?”

“Don’t bother. Have a good night.” Warren said curtly, ushering us out the door. Neither of us said anything until we were a good distance away from the restaurant. 

“Guys from the ring?” I asked quietly.

“Most likely.”

“We could walk around for a while? Maybe they’ll have cleared out by the time we get back.”

“Maybe.” he said, but didn’t sound convinced. Still, we wound up wandering along the nearby streets. I could hear faint music coming from somewhere, but I couldn’t tell where. We seemed to be approaching it, though. 

It turned out to be a string quintet on one of the street corners. Two violins, two violas, and a cello all playing some slow classical piece. The cello player’s instrument case was out in front, open for donations. I could see several bills already inside - and rightfully so, they were very good musicians. Warren turned to me, holding out a hand.

“Dance with me?” 

“I’m not a very good dancer.” I warned, but took his hand and let him lead me off to the side. The musicians had switched to a different song - this one in 3/4 time, a waltz. Warren guided my left hand up to his shoulder, positioning his arm under mine. He clasped my other hand in his, holding it out. 

“I’ll teach you. Like this.” he led me through a simple series of steps. To my credit, I didn’t step on his toes or fall over (both very real concerns). I felt a little awkward at first - my steps felt clunky compared to Warren’s surprising grace - but it didn’t take long before I’d gotten the hang of it. The song ended, and Warren spun me around before pulling me closer into a different dance position as a new song started. 

“Where’d you learn to dance like this?” I asked a little breathlessly. 

“Cotillion.” he deadpanned. I snorted, gently smacking his shoulder. Warren, at rich-boy etiquette classes? I didn’t think so. He chuckled. “I’m serious. It’s not like I _wanted_ to go. My mom signed me up, actually. But some things came in useful.” He spun me again for emphasis, and I giggled. 

“I’m having trouble picturing you at a cotillion.” I admitted, grinning at him.

“Really? I wonder why.” he joked in response, “But I’m not kidding about that. My father’s a rich asshole, and rich assholes send their rich asshole kids to cotillion.”

“You’re not an asshole.” I protest. 

“And I’m not exactly rich either. But my dad would do anything to keep his reputation clean, so I went to cotillion. That’s about as thrilling as the story gets.”

“Well, I’m certainly not complaining.” I replied, then surprised him with a kiss as he dipped me. I thought I heard one of the musicians chuckle from beside us, but I wasn’t sure. And to be honest, I didn’t care. 

We danced for a while longer. A few couples stopped by, some to dance alongside us, some just to watch. Most of the people who passed dropped a couple euros in the cellist’s case. The fact that some people had stopped to watch us dance wasn’t as odd as I thought it was going to be. 

The current song ended, and I took a step back before the next song could start. I wish I’d picked better shoes for this - they were fine for the walk over to the restaurant, but not exactly comfortable for all the dancing we’d been doing.

“Taking a break.” I explained. “Hey, do you want to try heading back to the restaurant?”

“I’d rather not risk it.” he sighed, “It’s one thing for the crowd to see us together, but those guys…”

“Well… we could grab some street food instead? I know it’s not the expensive dinner we expected, but I don’t mind.” I suggested instead, gesturing towards one of the food carts across the street. Warren agreed, so I went across the street for two orders of currywurst and two drinks. I made sure to grab a handful of napkins too - Anna would kill me if I stained her dress, as she’d made abundantly clear. I glanced back at Warren while I was waiting for the food. He was talking with the musicians, softly enough that I couldn’t hear what was being said. They were smiling, though, and I saw the cellist nod.

I paid the man at the cart, grabbing our tray of food to take back across the street. There was a bench alongside one of the buildings, I figured we could sit down and eat there. The quintet started up again, and strains of music filled the air. Familiar music, actually. I froze a few steps away from Warren, and a grin broke across my face. 

“My favorite.” I said softly, glancing up at Warren. There was a gleam in his green eyes, he must’ve known exactly how I would react. In fact, that was probably what he was whispering to the musicians about. 

“I take it you’d be down for one more dance before we eat?” he asked. I carefully set down the tray of food on the bench. 

“Of course. But not in these stupid shoes.” I muttered, kicking off my heels and tucking them under the edge of the bench. No way I was letting uncomfortable shoes ruin this dance. Warren gave me that lopsided smile. 

“Not afraid of being barefoot in the street, huh?”

“Oh please, you know me.” I teased sarcastically, walking back over to him and getting into position, “I don’t give a damn about what most people think of me.”

“Most people?” he asked, swaying easily with me as the music filtered softly through the air.

“I do value _some_ peoples’ opinions. My family’s, of course. Anna’s too.” I replied with a small smirk, “And you know, there is this one guy…” 

“What’s he like?” he played along, and I saw a dimple twitch in his cheek.

“He’s really sweet and charming… though he is a bit of a daredevil at times.” Warren laughed, pulling me in for a kiss right as the song ended. The kiss deepened - maybe a _hair_ too intense for a public setting - before I pulled back. 

“Our food’s going to get cold, come on.” I said, pulling him over to the bench so we could eat. We had to be more than a little careful with eating: currywurst was a messy food, not the kind of thing you’re generally expected to eat in a suit or formal dress. 

“Can I ask you a stupid question?” I asked as we ate. Warren nodded, looking intrigued. “How do you go clothes shopping? Like… with the wings and all.” 

“I got my measurements taken professionally a while ago. I usually go off that. Either that or I make my best guesses.”

“Makes sense.” 

“My turn for a stupid question. What’s your last name?” I snorted.

“How’s that a stupid question? McKinney, by the way. Rachel Ayla McKinney.”

“Stupid ‘cause we’ve been dating two months and I didn’t know it until two seconds ago.” 

“It never came up.” I said with a shrug, “Technically I don’t know your last name either.”

“It’s Worthington.” I bit my lip to keep from smiling at him.

“Well, now I can believe that you went to a cotillion.” 

“Ouch. That bad, huh?” he jokes. I shrug, standing up to clear our empty trays and drink cups.

“I’ve heard worse.” _Warren Worthington. Actually had a nice ring to it, even if it was a bit of a rich-boy name._ I sat back down, pulling my heels back on. Before we left, I made sure to thank the performers, and Warren dropped 20 euros into the cello case. 

“We should be thanking you, really. Rustled up some extra business for us tonight with your dancing.” one of the violinists mentioned. With our fancy clothing and Warren’s dance training, we probably looked like we were performing with them, not just guests enjoying the music. Again, I didn't find it as odd as I expected to. 

“Sorry we missed out on Belmondo.” Warren said with a small frown.

“Don’t apologize. I liked this better anyway. It’s… unique.” 

“Unique. Sure seems to suit us, huh love?” I blushed a little at the pet name. 

“Sure does. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Belmondo may or may not have existed in 1983, all the websites were in a language that I do not understand so idk. I just picked it cause it seemed fancy  
> \- Figured you guys deserved a few chapters of fluff before we get to the more serious stuff that's coming up


	9. Trio

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first three fights of the new bracket are tonight. This raises a multitude of concerns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- This chapter got kinda long (~3,400 words compared to the usual 2k)  
> \- Also, there's some mind manipulation/mind control at play here, if that's a trigger for anyone you may want to skip this chapter

I dug my nails into my palms as I waited outside the warehouse. This would be the first Fight Night of the new bracket. Warren would have three matches in a row tonight, instead of one. You can imagine my fear. Most of the time, the singular fights went down without issue, but occasionally things got a little close. Like with that feral woman and her claws. 

And now they’d only multiplied that risk. I tried not to let my anxiety show on my face. If it were an even fight, I had no doubt that Warren would sweep the floor with his opponents. The problem, for lack of a better term, was the randomness of his opponents’ abilities. I suppose to some people that was the appeal - the fights would never be considered boring. But it made them impossible to prepare for. 

When Warren landed beside me, it seemed like he held me a little tighter than usual. I buried my face against his neck, wishing I never had to let go. But all too soon, he had to pull away, to walk inside and prepare for the fight. I caught a few sympathetic glances as I walked inside the front door. Our relationship wasn’t exactly a secret, but it wasn’t like we blared it from the rooftops either. Some of the regulars knew about it, and Warren assured me that was okay as long as it didn’t reach the higher-ups. Neither of us wanted his “boss” using it against him. 

I said a quick hello to Anna as she came in, then moved over to my usual spot on the second floor. It was open, as usual. Like I said, some of the regulars had seen me around, knew that this was My Spot. To be honest, I couldn’t tell whether that was out of politeness for me or intimidation of Warren. I found that it didn’t really matter. 

The first fight wasn’t so bad. It was a pretty long fight, but Warren didn’t take very many bad hits. His opponent had some sort of wind-control ability. Theoretically, pretty useful against a guy with wings. But Warren stayed on the ground and kept his wings tucked against his back, and it was basically an ordinary boxing match from that point. His opponent had a bit of hand-to-hand experience, and the fight dragged on for a while. 

At first I was nervous. A particularly strong gust of wind from Warren’s opponent nearly sent him into the side of the electrified cage, but Warren was a careful fighter after that slipup. The two traded blows for a while. The other man managed a blow to Warren’s cheekbone - that would make a nasty bruise in the morning, no doubt. Warren absorbed the blow, then grabbed his opponent’s arm to bring him in closer. He slammed his elbow into his temple, knocking him out. Round one, complete. 

Warren flew up, sitting down on the rafters as they pulled the unconscious man from the ring and prepared for the next fight. He pressed two fingers to his face, wincing as he found the growing bruise. He glanced to his left, where he knew I was waiting. He met my eyes, holding my gaze for a long moment. 

The bell dinged to indicate that the next fight was about to begin, and Warren stood. He tapped his hand against the side of his thigh twice, a modified version of our signal. I tapped my fingers twice against the railing, and I saw him nod once before he dropped back down to the floor. 

The second fight… I don’t even know if it could be considered a _fight_ at all. I don’t even know what his new opponent’s ability was. Probably something situational, if I had to guess. Something that might be useful elsewhere, but no good here. Like… growing plants or being able to survive extreme heat or something. Either way, hardly a contest. Warren took him out with one clean punch to the temple, and I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. Only one more fight to go. 

The next fighter walked in. His expression immediately sent terror down my spine. See, most fighters ranged from complete terror to begrudging acceptance as they entered the cage. Even Warren had this mix of anxiety and acquiescence that crossed his face whenever a new fight began. But this guy… he looked almost _gleeful_. There was a wicked gleam in his eye that promised pain. 

Warren saw it too, and I saw him falter a moment. He must have encountered a few sadists before, during his extensive time in the ring, but there was just something really screwed up about this one in particular.

“ _And for our final fight of the night… Angel will take on Puppeteer!_ ” the announcer called in German. It took me an extra moment to figure out the last word - I was getting better with German, but this word was unfamiliar. My grip tightened on the railing when I realized what he’d said, though. Puppeteer. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what the nature of his abilities were.

The fight began. Warren moved in quickly, hoping to get a strike in before Puppeteer could react. No such luck. Puppeteer glared at Warren, and his fist seemed to swerve of its own accord, missing Puppeteer entirely. Warren stumbled, managing to recover before he fell. He sliced his wing outwards, sweeping Puppeteer off his feet. Puppeteer winced as he landed flat on his ass. 

I kept my eyes on the fight, though I slowly slipped away from my spot. I needed to find Anna. I stepped down the stairs as the two men fought. Puppeteer seemed to be making Warren miss the majority of his punches, but Warren was able to fight off his mind control somewhat. He got a few good blows in, but not enough to knock him out. 

_Anna?_ I called out mentally. I had no idea if Puppeteer was telepathic too, or just had persuasion, but I figured it was worth the risk. 

_I know, Rae. I’m trying._ I heard Anna’s voice in my mind. Instinctively, I glanced around for her. I still couldn’t see where she was, but I noticed Warren landed a few extra punches. I was sure that her help was against the rules of the fight, but I couldn’t care less. Warren finally managed a solid hit, and Puppeteer fell back. He clutched a hand against his face, looking genuinely dazed for a moment. 

Unfortunately, he recovered. From the floor, Puppeteer flashed a shark-like grin at Warren, all pointed teeth and dead eyes. Maybe moving closer to the cage was a bad idea. I could see the sadistic gleam in his eye. 

“You’ve got a little girlfriend, don’t you?” he hissed. My blood ran cold. How the hell would he know about us? 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Warren said coolly as he swung his wing towards his opponent. Puppeteer sidestepped, and I saw Warren’s muscles lock up for a moment as Puppeteer moved behind him. 

“Be a shame if something happened to her.” Puppeteer threatened without a hint of subtlety. Warren kept his face blank, acting confused, but I saw something flicker behind his eyes. 

**Freeze**. The word filled my mind. Puppeteer’s presence seeped into my mind like oil, coating every surface of my thoughts. I couldn’t move. Dimly, I was aware of another presence, more familiar. Anna, trying to break the control. 

The terror was already starting to set in. _He’s in my head. Can’t move. Can’t breathe._ I tried to fight Puppeteer’s influence, my muscles shook with the effort. 

**Are you afraid?** The question was more of a taunt, but the answer bubbled to the surface of my mind immediately. _Yes_. There was a sickening laugh. I couldn’t tell whether it was coming from inside my head or inside the cage. Warren lurched forward, aiming for Puppeteer.

“I wouldn’t.” he warned. 

**The cage. Touch it.** My fingers extended, and I fought to pull my arm away. **Wait.** My hand froze, shaking, just inches away from the metal. I could feel the buzz of electricity, making my hair stand on end. Hot tears streamed down my face. I wanted to wipe them away, but my muscles refused to obey.

“Unless you want to give her a few new scars.” Warren froze, looking genuinely afraid. He slowly held up his hands, showing Puppeteer that he wouldn’t attack. His eyes met mine, and I saw raw fear reflected in the green of his irises. 

This was a bargain, I realized. Some kind of twisted bargain for who would win the fight. Puppeteer would never win against Warren in a fair fight, not without this horrible trick. And Warren… Warren would lose the fight for me. The thought terrified me more than being forced to touch the electrified cage. 

**Closer.** My fingers inched towards the metal, just a few centimeters away now. Puppeteer refused to even let me look away. He turned to face me, leaving his back to Warren. 

“You’re very pretty. Maybe I’ll keep you.” he said, staring me in the eyes. I glared back at him. I wanted so badly to scream at him, but my tongue felt like lead. _Fuck you_. I thought instead, directing the words at him. That horrible shark grin spread across his face again, and he leaned closer to the wall of the cage. 

“Fiery, too. But we’ll fix that.” He knew exactly what to say to send the fear jolting down my spine. As if taking over my movements was enough. He wanted to completely rewrite who I _was_ , as soon as he got out of here. I was just a marionette on strings to him, waiting to be manipulated.

I saw a hint of movement from behind him. Suddenly, Puppeteer’s head slammed into the wall of the cage. His body jerked once from the electricity before he crumpled, unconscious or worse. Was it cruel of me to wish for worse? In a heartbeat I’d regained control over my limbs, and I fell backwards, away from the cage. I couldn’t stop the shaking that took over my whole body. 

Warren stood there, behind Puppeteer’s fallen body. His face was cast in a mix of fear and anger. He kicked Puppeteer fiercely in the ribs, scowling at the unconscious sadist. As soon as the cage doors opened, he strode angrily out the back. No playing to the crowd tonight. 

There was no applause tonight either. Or maybe I’d just experienced so much mental overload that I was just tuning it out. Anna broke through the crowd, guiding me outside and away from everyone’s eyes. The cool air helped slightly, but I couldn’t get the feeling of being manipulated like that out of my head. My breathing was ragged, I couldn’t take in enough air.

“Rae, hey. Breathe. It’s done.” Anna murmured softly, placing her hands on my shoulders. I tried to slow my breathing with limited success. 

_What if she’s persuading you too? Telling you to calm down._ My treacherous brain supplied. It was a ridiculous thought, Anna would never take over my mind like that. I trusted her, but right now the panic had taken over my brain. I wasn’t thinking straight, and my chest tightened at the thought of greater persuasion.

“I’m gonna go get you some water, okay? Warren should be out here soon.” Anna supplied. She had chosen her words carefully, making sure nothing she said could be construed as a command, couldn’t be twisted by my out-of-control thoughts. I felt horrible for thinking those things, I wanted to apologize to her, but she’d already crossed out of earshot. 

I leaned against the brick wall, trying to ground myself with the cool stone against my back. I tried to remember some of the things my therapist had said about panic attacks. _Five things you see. Okay. People, food trucks, brick walls, the moon in the sky, and the telephone pole across the street._

 _Four things you hear. Music from the trucks, people talking, somebody’s air conditioner is buzzing, and yelling. Yelling?_ That pulled me out of my thoughts. There must have been a window open somewhere, the sounds of somebody yelling echoed slightly in the empty alleyway. I recognized Warren’s voice. He sounded absolutely furious.

“That crossed the fucking line! She wasn’t a part of this!” 

“It was entertaining, and besides, she wasn’t hurt.” A voice, cruel and calm, replied. I could picture Warren’s expression in the long pause that followed. The way he’d set his jaw, the scowl that indicated he wanted to argue but couldn’t say too much. He knew that that _had_ hurt me, but he wouldn’t reveal that to the person he was talking to. 

“She was in the audience! The fight’s supposed to stay in the bloody cage. What happens when the audience realizes they aren’t safe?” he argued instead, choosing a less personal tack. 

“Don’t raise your voice at me, Worthington! You are not immune just because you won the fight!” the other voice snapped, now livid. There was another pause, then I heard footsteps echo from the open window. Warren apparently realized how much he was toeing the line.

“We’re keeping him, by the way. He gave us some good business.” the other, harsher voice added. I forced my lungs to take in air. _No, no, no. Warren won._ He _lost. He’s supposed to be gone. He can’t…_

I heard a door slam in the alleyway, and then Warren was racing over to me. He took my hands, frowning at the small crescent-shaped cuts on my palms. I must have been digging my nails in. I didn’t even notice. 

“Rae? I’m here, what can I do? How can I help?” he asked. His green eyes were clouded with concern. 

“Panic attack.” I managed to gasp out, “It’ll… it’ll pass.” He traced his thumbs over the backs of my hands, calming circles. I tried to focus on that. It helped a little. His hands were warm, and I could feel the rough calluses on his palms. I forced myself to take deep breaths, and slowly some of the panic subsided. 

Anna returned a few minutes later, offering me a cup of water. I took careful sips. Sometimes I got nauseous after a panic attack, I didn’t want to wind up vomiting. Now that the initial fear had died down, I just felt exhausted and overwhelmed. And I could feel peoples’ eyes on me, recognizing me one way or another. I needed to get away from everyone. Warren squeezed my hands. _Pulse pulse._ Weakly, I returned the gesture. I still felt shaky. 

“D’you want to go home?” he asked softly, sensing my discomfort and bringing one wing up to block us from the pedestrians. I nodded, still not trusting myself with words at the moment. 

“Mine or yours?” he continued.

“Yours.” I replied. I felt a little self-conscious - to be taken down so entirely and so easily like this, to put Warren in danger and then force him to take care of me like this. I was 24, a grown-ass woman, and I felt like a child. And yet Warren was being nothing but understanding. 

Warren thanked Anna (apparently he’d noticed her helping him fend off Puppeteer earlier) and bid her good-bye. It was all a bit of a blur to me, admittedly. And then we were in the air. This time I was curled against his chest, sort of a bridal carry. I could feel his heartbeat, slower than mine but not exactly calm. 

He landed on the balcony, but didn’t let me go. I was grateful, actually - I didn’t exactly trust my legs at the moment. He opened the door and carried me inside.

“Y’know, usually couples only do that after they’re married.” I know it was meant as a joke, but it made something dark spring in my chest. Marriage. We wouldn’t get the chance. Marriage took time, money, all things we didn’t have. Warren noticed the shift in my expression as he set me down on the couch, sitting next to me.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” he said softly, tracing his hand over my back. 

“I know. It’s not your fault. My brain is…” I gestured vaguely at myself, “kinda fried right now.” I pulled my legs up to my chest, hugging my knees. Warren kept tracing idle patterns on my back, and I found comfort in the touch. It was just the right amount of physical contact - not so much that I felt suffocated, but enough to ground me. Nobody had managed to get that balance quite right before. 

The worst of it had passed. Exhaustion set in, like I’d just run a marathon. I leaned against the back of the couch with a heavy sigh. Warren moved his hand so it wasn’t pinned against the couch. He shot me a questioning glance.

“I’m okay.” I replied, glancing at him. He still looked concerned, and it hurt my heart. 

“I should have gotten there sooner.” he muttered to himself. 

“Don’t. None of that was your fault.” I was quick to interject. I rubbed my fingers together, remembering the way the hair on my arm had stood on end with the electricity of the cage. If Warren hadn’t taken advantage of Puppeteer’s distraction, all of that would have ended much worse. Physically… mentally… you name it. I fought back a shudder. It still felt like Puppeteer’s oily presence was in my mind.

“D’you mind if I take a shower?” I asked, somewhat awkwardly. I needed to wash away the events of tonight. 

“You know you don’t need to ask.” Warren replied, getting up off the couch. He returned a moment later with a bundle of clothes - something for me to change into. I thanked him and walked down to the bathroom at the end of the hall.

I turned the water on hot, trying to imagine that the spray was scouring my mind of Puppeteer’s manipulation. When I was younger, I’d have to contend with the temptation of scrubbing my skin raw, in an attempt to get rid of that gross crawling feeling. Therapy had helped that in recent years, but it attempted to rear its ugly head once again. I decided to shut off the water before I wound up back in that rabbit hole. Still, I felt better than I would if I hadn't showered.

I ran my fingers through my wet hair, trying to comb out some of the knots. With the water off, I could hear music coming faintly from the kitchen. Warren must have turned the radio on, and the sounds of The Cars drifted across the apartment. I smiled to myself. It sounded like he was singing along, too. 

I got changed, into the hoodie and sweats Warren had lent me. The clothes were oversized, and the hoodie had slits cut into the back meant to accommodate his wings, but they were warm and soft and carried just a trace of his scent. I hung up my towel to dry, then walked quietly down the hall. 

“ _I guess you’re just what I needed / I needed someone to feed._ ”

I paused inside the doorway, just watching for a moment. Warren was standing in the kitchen, grabbing a pair of mugs as he waited for water to boil for tea. He sang along quietly, bobbing his head to the music. I crossed the room, coming up behind him. I pressed my hand gently to the space between his shoulder blades, letting him know I was here, before lacing my arms around his waist from behind. 

“Hey. Feeling better?” he murmured, turning his head to press a chaste kiss against my temple. I leaned my cheek against his shoulder, breathing in his scent. Leather and cologne and just a hint of clean sweat from the fights. He smelled like comfort to me. 

“A lot better, actually.” It was true. The shower helped, and the music. I felt back to myself, if a little tired. I let myself lean a little more against Warren, the tiniest smile gracing my lips.

“I didn’t know you could sing.” I noted, “You sound good.” He ducked his head a little, like he was embarrassed. 

“Dunno if I’d really call that singing.” He chuckled, and I could feel the way it resonated in his chest.

_I think I’m in love with you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Link to Just What I Needed by The Cars: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z5-rdr0qhWk


	10. Discoveries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rae learns a few new things... intentionally or not

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Hope you enjoy this chapter! Feedback is always appreciated!

I shoved a few translation books into my bookbag. It was Monday afternoon, and I needed to get a little work done, but Warren had called me to ask if I could come over. And there was no reason I couldn’t do my work from his apartment instead of mine, it was one of the perks of my job after all. I pulled the bag onto my shoulder and stepped out to the balcony, waiting for him to pick me up. 

Ten minutes later, we’d gone from my balcony to his. There’d been one small incident involving my bag nearly slipping off my shoulder while we were a hundred feet in the air, but thankfully I’d manage to recover without dropping it and beaning some poor pedestrian in the head. 

As I turned to open the door, I noticed something about his apartment. All the furniture in the main living area had been pushed to the sides, leaving a wide open space from the kitchen counter to the opposite wall. Even the rug had been rolled up and shoved to the side, leaving the floor flat and bare. 

“Warren… what’s this?” I asked, more curious than anything. I heard him draw in a breath from beside me.

“I want you to learn how to fight.” he stated simply. Ah. So that’s why he’d moved all the furniture: training space. I wasn’t opposed to learning to box, and I certainly wasn’t opposed to Warren teaching me, but… now?

“Why?” I demanded, then my voice dropped to just above a whisper: “Is this about last Friday? Do… do you think I’m weak?” 

“Love, if I thought you were weak I wouldn’t’ve bloody bothered.” he replied definitively, then hesitated. He glanced at the ground when he spoke next, “I want to make sure you can defend yourself. They… they let that bastard go.”

I didn’t need to ask _which_ bastard. I’d overheard his conversation with his boss, for one, and even if I hadn’t I could have guessed. It seemed like Warren was more concerned for me than he let on - and both of us knew that Puppeteer wouldn’t just give up.

“I know.” I admitted, “I overheard you talking. But if he gets inside my head again, there’s n-no way I can-” I cut myself off before my voice broke. 

“It would make me feel better, alright?” he insisted. “Please.” 

“Okay.” I set my bag down on the kitchen counter and pulled the rubber band off my wrist to tie my hair back. It was a good thing I was wearing loose-fitting clothing. I walked to the middle of the open floor space, trying to show that I was ready. Warren hung up his jacket and moved to stand across from me.

“Make a fist.” he instructed. I obliged, and he took my hand to adjust the positioning of my fingers a bit, “You want to punch from here,” he ran his index finger over my first two knuckles, “and keep your wrist straight so you don’t break any bones.” he paused, then chuckled, “Well, any of your _own_ bones.”

I let out a snort before I could stop it, and Warren gave me that lopsided grin. He walked me through the proper form for increasing the power behind your punches, and I was struck by how much nuance and refinement there was in it. It was more than just blindly trading blows, there was strategy. Maybe that’s what made him so good at it: he’d taken the time to learn the techniques and commit them to muscle memory. He taught me a couple moves, then suggested we spar.

“Don’t worry, we’ll take it easy at first.” he promised, folding his wings against his back, “Fair fight.” 

Warren swung an easy punch at me, which I blocked with my forearm like he’d taught me. I swung my other arm for his stomach, but he swept my arm aside with a similar block. We sparred for a little while, just trading moves so I got used to the rhythm of the fight. Any time I missed a block, he’d stop his strike before it actually made contact with me. Then we’d pause, he’d tweak my technique, and start again. 

He sent a right hook for me, which I ducked and countered with a jab aimed for his ribs. He’d picked up the pace a little as I’d grown more confident with sparring, but still wasn’t going all-out. I’d _seen_ his all-out, and he was wickedly fast when he wanted to be. But he was taking it easy for me, giving me a chance to practice. He was a good teacher: very patient, and he seemed to know exactly how to explain things. 

Warren swung another punch, expecting me to block it. Instead, I sidestepped and grabbed his wrist, tugging him off-balance in a move I’d seen him do in a number of fights. Except… I pulled a little too hard, and he went all the way down to the floor. His wings flared instinctively, nearly taking me down with him. He landed on his forearms with a grunt, then flipped over to face me. I expected him to be irritated with me, but instead he laughed.

“That was good.” he said with a grin, “That was really good.” I held out a hand, shooting him an apologetic glance.

“That was… kind of an accident.” I noted as he took my hand and let me pull him up to his feet. 

“Yeah, well. It worked. Do it again.” 

We sparred for a little while longer, until my blocks grew slow from fatigue. I took a little pride in the sheen of sweat on Warren’s forehead - he may have been pulling his punches, but I’d managed to give him a bit of a challenge nonetheless. I’d managed to get past his guard a couple times, though only for a moment, and I was getting more acquainted with the movements. Not to mention it was much more enjoyable than my usual workouts. Maybe I should do this more regularly?

We’d decided to call it there and moved the furniture (mostly) back into place. After grabbing water and cooling down a bit, I’d set up at the kitchen counter to do some work. Admittedly, I was coming a little close to the deadline on this project and needed to get it done. Warren was over on the couch, watching some sitcom with the volume turned down so it wouldn’t distract me. Again, that comfortable domesticity. 

He must’ve gotten bored after a while, because he came up beside me right as I was finishing up. He glanced down at the page, tilting his head at the words in French. I offered him a smile as I scratched the last stanza out on the page, translating the words into English.

“What’cha working on?” he asked from over my shoulder.

“French opera. They’re passing out leaflets in English and German for the people who don’t understand French, so they can understand what’s going on. I’m writing up the English ones.” I explained.

“What opera?” he slid into the chair beside me, snatching the translated page from in front of me. I grabbed for it, but he held it out of my reach to study the words. 

“Thief!” I teased, “It’s some contemporary piece I’ve never heard of. But hey, I get free tickets for working on it. Want to go see it?”

“Hmm, I dunno.” he muttered aloud, but his grin told me he was just screwing with me, “Me sitting in a theatre for three hours, listening to people sing about…” he glanced at the page, “ ‘the autumn sky that turns to winter’?” 

“Oh come on, that’s a nice line. _Le ciel d'automne qui passe à l'hiver_. It’s better in French.” I snagged the page out of his hand, sliding it into my work folder with the rest of the documents, “So, go see it with me, _mon amour_?”

“When is it?” 

“About a month from now.” I noticed the way his face fell, “Hey, don’t. We’ve made it this far, it’s just a few more weeks.” I tried to sound more confident than I felt. We could make plans like a normal couple, and we could keep those plans. 

“Okay.” Warren leaned over, kissing me on the cheek, “Let’s do it.”

____  
A few hours later, I was saying goodbye to Warren and opening the balcony door to my apartment. I set my bookbag on the kitchen counter and walked over to the couch. Anna was watching some news channel, though she greeted me when I sat down next to her. 

“Hey, I’ve got four free tickets to this opera I’m working on. Warren and I are going, we could make it a double-date if you had someone in mind.” 

“Sounds like fun. Next month, yeah?” 

“Yeah.”

“I’ll find someone to go with by then.” she assured me, “Not making myself the third wheel if I can help it.” She laughed, then turned her attention back to the TV. A reporter chirped out some question to the man being interviewed, something about insider trading issues. 

“I’ve heard all the allegations about me and my company…'' The man on the screen stated with an impeccably professional tone and a crisp English accent. He was standing at a podium, addressing a crowd of news reporters. He had pale blond hair, almost white, and was dressed in an expensive suit. 

“I’d like to first state that some of them are true. But we’re working to fix that, and within the next few months we hope to resolve all of these corporate issues.” He concluded. There was a flurry of flashes, and noise rose as reporters fought for their question to be answered next. 

“Sir, sir! We’ve received word that you’re funding a new charity, is this true?” one particularly loud reporter cut above the others. The man glanced to his left, addressing the reporter. There was something vaguely familiar about the way his green eyes flashed as he began to speak again.

“Yes.” He ducked his head suddenly, and I could hear him draw in a sharp breath. When he lifted his head again, his eyes were filled with grief. “My son… it’s been nearly six months since my only son was taken from me. I wish I could have done more for him, but maybe I can do more for other mutants out there. That’s why I’m sponsoring the…” I missed the last part, because Anna spoke over the TV.

“Bullshit.” 

“What?”

“That’s total bullshit. He’s not sad, he’s guilty.” At my skeptical glance, she rolled her eyes, “I know how to read people, Rae. I don’t need my powers for that.” 

“Must be really damn guilty to spend ten thousand dollars on this.”

“Businessmen like this are always trying to apologize about one thing or another.” she replied vaguely. Basically… her guess was as good as mine. The noise from the TV jumped up as the reporters scrambled to be heard once again. I winced at the burst of sound.

“Hey, can you turn that… holy shit.” A banner across the bottom of the screen had distracted me. More specifically, the name of the man being interviewed. _Warren Worthington, Jr._

“You okay? You look pale.” Anna glanced from me to the TV. 

“I… I know what he did that made him feel so guilty.” 

“What?!” Anna turned more fully to face me, waiting for me to spill the details. She probably thought this was some true-crime thing, something I’d heard through the grapevine. Not something so close to home.

“That’s Warren’s dad.” I couldn’t seem to make my voice go much louder than a whisper, “He- He’s the one who sold him to the ring.” Maybe it wasn’t polite to share this with Anna without Warren knowing, but my thoughts were so frantic that she’d probably have found out anyway. Anna’s jaw dropped - actually _dropped_ , like it did in the movies. 

“Oh, Rae…” was all she said. She looked as stunned as I felt. I couldn’t seem to tear my eyes away from the screen, matching a face to the horrible man I’d heard so much about. I could sort of see the resemblance, now that I was paying attention. Same green eyes, though Worthington Jr.’s looked sharp and cruel compared to Warren’s. And there were some similarities in his facial features: the set of his jaw, the shape of his nose. 

I ran a hand over my forehead, trying to process this. I had known Warren’s dad was some big-shot businessman, but I’d never really made the connection before. And frankly, I didn’t even know what to do with this information. What kind of father would intentionally do something like that to his son? I wasn’t even sure if I should tell Warren that I knew. _Hey, guess what, I saw your abusive father on the news. I didn’t know you were related to_ that _Worthington! Small world, huh?_ Yeah, not exactly the thing you spring on a person like that. 

One thing I knew for certain: this didn’t change how I felt about Warren. I _loved_ him, and that wasn’t going to change just because he shared DNA with some rich asshole on the television. God knows we’d made it through worse things than this.


	11. I Promise I'll Stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their relationship is difficult at times, but that doesn't mean it's not worth it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any feedback is always appreciated!

Warren had trouble sleeping. I knew this. I’d found out a few weeks after that first night I’d stayed over. He’d told me about the nightmares before, but I hadn’t seen them until that night. Maybe having another person there helped, or he just got lucky. Or maybe I’d just slept through it, oblivious. I hoped that one wasn’t the case.

But either way, that night was different.

At first I hadn’t known what woke me up. It was late, maybe 3 in the morning, and nearly pitch-black save for the light that filtered in from the outside streetlamps. Maybe some noise from outside had woken me? I was about to shrug it off and go back to sleep when Warren shifted from beside me.

He took in a sharp breath, more of a gasp really, and his arm had tightened around my waist. I thought maybe he’d woken up, but his eyes were still shut and his brow was furrowed. A nightmare, then. The realization of that had woken me up, the 3AM haziness disappearing to be replaced with concern. Then he’d let out a soft groan, and shifted again. His wings pulled up around himself defensively. 

“Warren? War, babe, wake up.” I’d murmured, gently grabbing his shoulder. His eyelids fluttered, but he hadn’t woken up. I’d shaken his shoulder a little then, still trying to break him out of the nightmare. “Warren, hey. It’s a dream. You’re safe.” 

His eyes had flown open, clouded with fear for a moment before he realized where he was. Then he sighed and sat up, rubbing his eyes with one hand. I’d hesitated: I wasn’t sure whether he’d want comfort or space after something like this. 

“ ‘M alright.” he muttered, knowing exactly what I was about to ask, “Jus’ a nightmare.” His voice was gruff from sleep. He brushed off the nightmares, but I could see his hands shaking slightly. I scooted over, so that I was face-to-face with him. He sighed deeply, leaning forward to press his forehead against mine. He folded his arms around me, then his wings, so we were in a sort of cocoon. 

Eventually the trembling had stopped, and he’d laid back down in an attempt to get back to sleep. I’m… not sure he succeeded, because he was already awake when I got up that morning. He was in the kitchen, nursing a cup of coffee with an exhausted look in his eyes, though he offered me a smile when I walked in. 

He didn’t share what the nightmares were about. I didn’t ask. There were other nights, some better and some worse. Sometimes it would be mild enough that he could get back to sleep, or that he slept through the night in the first place. Some were bad enough that he’d have to get up and walk around the apartment for a while to shake off the dreams. I’d like to say that most were the former, at least when I was around. 

Since the new bracket began, they’d been getting worse. 

He’d wake up thrashing around, writhing like he was trying to throw off an assailant. It scared me, the first time. I was still half-asleep, and I thought someone was trying to break into the apartment or something. And then he’d shaken off the remnants of the dream and his expression changed from panic to guilt. He’d sat on the edge of the bed, slouching over with his head in his hands. 

I placed a hand on his forearm. Sometimes, when he was still half-caught in his nightmare, he’d flinch away from the touch, but he didn’t now. So I’d moved closer, massaging the space between his wings. The muscles there always got so knotted from flying and fighting. 

“Do you… want to talk about it?” I asked, somewhat awkwardly, “Maybe it’ll help?” Internalizing all this couldn’t be good for him. He looked so weary, down to the bone, and it hurt my heart like nothing else. I just wanted him to be able to sleep. 

Warren took a deep breath, building himself up for what he was about to say. The muscles in his back tensed, like he was physically carrying the weight of the words.

“I… I’m afraid I’m running out of time. I finally have something to lose, Rae… I’m scared.” His voice nearly broke on the last word. 

“You’re not going to lose me. I’m here.” I assured him softly. It was the only thing I could think to say. I wouldn’t be the person to sit there and say “everything will be okay”, because honestly I didn’t know if that was true. I didn’t believe in false words of comfort, they didn’t solve anything and they always felt… hollow. 

“There’s… a lot that we can’t control right now.” I continued, idly running my fingers over the scars on his back, “But this is something that I _can_ control, and I’m telling you now. I’m with you, no matter what. Okay?”

“But why do you stay?” he muttered, “I’m a fuckin’ disaster. I’ve almost gotten you hurt, _multiple_ times, and let’s face it: even if by some bloody _miracle_ we make it past this, I’m not exactly the kind of guy you bring home to your parents, Rae. No matter how this ends, it isn’t going to be good.”

“Warren, I don’t stay because I have to.” I said earnestly, almost sternly, “I’m staying because I _want_ to. I care about you. You make me happy.” He looked over his shoulder, meeting my eyes. His were tired and rimmed with red, like he was holding back tears. His eyes flitted over my face, taking in my expression. After a moment he dropped his gaze, taking in a deep breath.

“God, you’re so bloody stubborn.” he nearly whispered, but there was no irritation in his voice. He sounded _grateful_. He’d given me the out, and I hadn’t taken it. 

“Damn straight.” I replied, a slight grin gracing my lips. I pressed my fingers a little more firmly into his back, working out the knots at the base of his wings. “Now try to get some sleep for me? Please?”

“No promises.” he murmured, but he shuffled back on the bed until he was leaning against the headboard. He held out a hand, beckoning me closer, but I had other plans. Stifling a yawn, I slid off the bed and got up.

“ ‘M gonna make some tea. Be back in a few.” I said. Hot drinks always helped me sleep, whether it was tea or cocoa or just hot water. I was hoping it would help Warren too. I slipped quietly out of the bedroom, setting the kettle on to boil. 

I leaned against the counter as I waited. The conversation had woken me up a bit, but it was still the middle of the night and sleep was tempting me. I rubbed my eyes, glancing at the clock on the counter. 3:37 AM. 

It was 3:54 by the time I walked back down to the bedroom, two mugs in hand. I nudged the door open with my hip, letting my eyes adjust to the darkness of the room. Warren was still leaning up against the headboard of the bed, wings splayed out to either side, but his head had dropped down to his shoulder. I could hear his soft, even breaths from across the room, and I couldn’t stop the small smile that tugged at my lips. Stubborn thing. 

I set the steaming mugs down on his dresser, taking a sip or two from mine before abandoning it. I moved across the room, sliding over beside Warren and fitting myself against the side of his body. Even in sleep, his arm found its way across my hips, pulling me closer with comforting weight. I leaned over, resting my head against his chest. 

“G’night, War.” I murmured, though I was pretty sure he was too far asleep to have heard me. I was getting there too, letting myself relax against him and drift into sleep. Everything I’d said to him had been the truth. I never wanted to leave his side.

____  
The next afternoon, Warren and I stood on the roof of his apartment building. We’d moved out training sessions up here, figuring it was too much of a hassle to move all the furniture every time we sparred. And we practiced more often now: several times a week, at least, in the afternoons when Warren got off work. 

We squared up, me bouncing on my toes a little in preparation. This time, Warren unfolded his wings. This was new. Up until now, he’d been sparring with me “fair fight-style” as he called it, ignoring his mutations to teach me the ropes. Apparently he’d determined I was skilled enough for the next step.

“If you ever wind up in a fight, your attacker isn’t going to care about rules. If they’re a mutant, they’re going to use that. You’re at a disadvantage.” he explained as he shook out his wings. I nodded my understanding, and we started to spar. 

I had gotten decidedly better over the course of the last week and a half. I still wasn’t nearly as strong or quick as Warren, but I had a tendency to surprise him every so often. He tried to knock me off my feet with a sweep of one wing, but I was expecting it and leapt backward. Interestingly enough, it reminded me of the time we’d first met. He’d pulled a much similar move back then, though we were on opposing sides at that point. Funny how things have changed. 

I didn’t let my thoughts get carried away. We were in the middle of a sparring match, after all. I darted in with an elbow to Warren’s ribs. I didn’t strike him very hard, but he grunted with surprise. He twisted back, knifing his heel around my ankle in an attempt to trip me. I stumbled back, nearly falling, but managed to grab his wrist. Either I’d pull him down with me or he’d support both of our weights, win-win. 

Like I expected, he held my weight on instinct, beating his wings to stay upright. I released his wrist as soon as I could regain my balance, and he chuckled. 

“Clever.” Warren noted with a small grin. I shrugged, taking a step back. Warren only allowed me a second to catch my breath before he moved in for another attack. This time he caught me, feigning one punch then jabbing in with his other fist. His blow was very controlled, he barely even made contact with me before pulling his arm back. 

He moved in for a second blow, but by then I’d managed to throw up a block. I aimed a controlled punch for his cheekbone, intending to just barely tap him, but Warren was already moving in for his next move. I didn’t see it coming, and my strike connected heavily before I could pull back. Warren hissed in surprise and pain, pressing a hand to his cheek. 

“Oh, fuck. I’m sorry.” I blurted quickly, instantly dropping my defensive position. I could already see the spot on his cheekbone growing darker as a bruise started to form. 

“Kiss it better?” he asked cheekily. I rolled my eyes at him, but rose up on my tiptoes to press my lips lightly against the bruise. He placed his hands on my hips, tugging me against him, and a squeak of surprise made its way past my lips. 

“Y’know, it’s kinda hot to watch you fight like that.” he murmured, his gruff voice sending pleasant chills up my spine. 

“Even if you’re on the receiving end?” I teased in response, trailing my fingers over his jaw. 

“Front-row seat, love.” he chuckled. I pulled him in for another kiss, this one on the lips, curling one hand behind his head to trace through his hair. His fingers snuck under the hem of my shirt, sending goosebumps over the bare skin on my midriff. 

Needless to say, the rest of our afternoon involved… activities that were decidedly _not_ sparring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Just for the record, writing smut makes me uncomfortable so the end of this chapter is about as close as it's ever going to get in this fic


End file.
